Proof Of Purchase: A Sequel
by thesmileofawinchester
Summary: Sequel to No Refunds: Cas has fallen and become human, and is staying with the Winchesters. Knowing that Crowley is searching for him and wanting him dead and that the Leviathan are still around and it's his fault they're there, can he relax for long enough for enjoy the humanity he's earned? Destiel.
1. Chapter 1

**_Proof Of Purchase_**

_This is a sequel to _No Refunds. _Set roughly following 7.10, Castiel returns to the Winchesters (very temporarily) in the body of a twenty-something girl. Dean? Not best pleased with the Angel. Angsty, light on the Destiel. I strongly recommend reading that before reading this, but it's a free internet. __  
_

_The characters aren't mine, yadda yadda yadda. I heartily enjoy reviews, and they will often nudge me into writing if I've been lazy. So, enjoy?_

* * *

The hunt should have been quick and clean.

Despite Sam's preconceptions about the man, Garth was a very competent hunter. Stealthily silent, even with gangly limbs that were largely disproportionate from his body, he and Sam managed to silently execute three of the eight vampires in the nest without waking the rest. They might have even been able to dispatch of them all with no mess, had Sam's cell phone not began to go off in his pocket, right as he was about to kill number 4.

Things became a little more complicated after that.

Eventually bruised and bloody, and Garth with a minor puncture wound or two, the job was finished. Eight decapitated vampires lay around them, and the room was basically a blood bath. The smaller hunter picked himself from the floor, and grinned up and Sam.

Sam chose then to look at his phone. One missed call: D. There wasn't a message, and when he tried to call his brother back there wasn't an answer.

He put it out of his mind long enough to burn the bodies of the vampires, though Garth insisted on finding a clearing to do it in, claiming his uncle was a Forest Ranger, and that fires like that were dangerous is wooded areas. Afterwards, while Garth looted the cabin, Sam called again. Still no answer. Here is when he started to worry.

Garth had pocketed all the change from the parking-meter scheme, and a few other odds and ends, when Sam told him they were leaving. Not letting the smaller man drive agonisingly slowly this time, Sam took the wheel, getting lost a few too many times for his liking before he eventually found himself in somewhat familiar territory, remembering this particular stretch of almost-road from when they had first arrived here after the hospital. Within three long minutes they were back at the cabin, and Sam barely bothered to turn off the engine before jumping out, racing up the steps to the cabin.

He wasn't sure what to expect when he flung open the door. Maybe the place would be empty, void of life, maybe it would be trashed. Maybe he would open it to a drunken mess of a brother, or perhaps he would see his brother the way he hated him most; dead behind the eyes and coldness in his heart.

The possibility that Sam would open the door to dinnertime never crossed his mind.

He froze in surprise in the doorway, watching the scene in front of him, and Dean and Castiel looked back. Both sat at the small table, eating the leftovers from the meal that Sam had made the night before.

For the last few days, Cas had been in a coma. During this time, Dean had barely left his side, waiting for his friend to wake up. They'd tried every lead they had, every old friend who owed them a favour, every last ditch resort; nothing had worked. Each time it came back the same; it was up to Cas whether or not he would wake up. Die as an angel, or live as a human.

When Cas had first returned, Dean had been angry, had shunned the angel and turned him away, showed no sign that he wanted him there. By the time he'd eventually begun to work through his issues, Cas had been kidnapped, had almost died, and fallen into a coma. Sam had stood by while Dean had the inevitable breakdown that had been building for God knows how long, until Garth had requested his presence on a hunt. He figured, how much could change in a day?

"Cas!" Sam uttered, when he could eventually speak. He suddenly realised how much he had been expecting the man to die. While Dean had been freaking out, Sam had to be the one planning for the worst case scenario, the one to pick up the pieces of Dean if his best friend died. This, apparently, hadn't left much room for optimism.

"Hello, Sam." Was the low response from Cas, who smiled ever so slightly.

* * *

Garth, despite being excited to finally meet the infamous Castiel, left quickly, recognising the situation as one that he was not meant to be a part of. Cas had politely endured the attention, but clearly did not welcome it, the excited stares from the small, wide-eyed man someone unsettling.

Sam pulled up a chair at the table, smiling as he clapped Cas on the back. "Cas, I can't believe you're awake!" He greeted him, quickly taking his hand away as he felt him flinch under the force of the slap. Though meant kindly, the man clearly wasn't used to being so fragile.

"Were you not expecting me to?" He replied, and Sam raised his eyebrows, quickly backtracking.

"No, Cas, of course I was!" He raised his hands in front of himself, a peaceful gesture as he tried to explain, glancing to Dean. "You've just been asleep for a while, and-" His eyes flicked between Dean and Cas, before noticing Dean's smirk, chuckling to himself as Dean stuck a fork into the food. "You're messing with me?" He asked, hands dropping back to the table, sighing.

Cas's mouth rose at a corner as he looked at Sam. "I appreciate your concern." He told him, toying with his food in an almost mirror-like fashion to Dean.

Time passed. They finished their food, Sam griping at the lack of salad in the house, claiming that they needed to go out and get some better food if they were going to stay here.

The cabin had grown dark, and Dean was slouching in his chair, looking over at the man sitting across from him. Cas was holding a glass of water in his hands, looking at the glass.

"You alright over there?" He asked, and Cas glanced up.

"I'm fine." Was the reply.

Dean raised an eyebrow, unconvinced, but shrugged. He didn't fancy getting into a conversation about how Cas was feeling just yet; he doubted the guy knew quite how to feel right now. "Okay." He agreed. He stood, stretching his legs as he walked over to the fridge and opening the door. Looking inside, he had to admit there wasn't much in the way of food in there, and considered reaching for one of the beers inside. Tilting his head, he felt his fingers twitch, instinctively reaching for it for something to do, but shrugged again, closing the door instead. He didn't fancy it just yet.

Turning round, he looked back to the table. Sam was sitting there with his laptop out, seemingly doing some research about the hunt he had been on today, presumably making up for the fact that he hadn't done any before being called in for it. Cas was still sitting there, fingers resting around the glass, silent. Dean wondered if he'd ever grow out of the whole sitting-like-he-had a pool-cue-up-his-ass thing.

It would take Cas a while to get used to all of this, he got that. But he frowned when he realised it would probably have to be him and Sam doing all the teaching. Sure, he loved kids, perhaps in another life he would've made a great dad, but it was a whole other thing teaching a fully grown man the basics of human life, or apparently, personal hygiene. Complete bed rest for the guy had left him a little ripe, and he could see damp patches beneath his arms.

"Cas?" He called, walking over to the table as the dark haired man looked round. "Why don't you take a shower?"

"A shower?" Cas repeated, a frown across his face.

"You're looking a little dewy around the edges, man." He told him. "Can't mojo yourself peachy clean anymore, you're gonna have to take care of yourself."

The man looked down, seemingly noticing the damp patches for the first time. "You're right." He said, standing up. "Thank you."

Dean raised his eyebrows, a little taken aback. Of course the guy would thank him for basically telling him he stank. "Anytime." He said simply, stepping backwards as Castiel walked past, heading straight for the eyebrows. He looked at Sam, who was staring at him in return. "What?"

* * *

Sam looked up after a while noticing the near complete silence that they had been sitting in for the best part of quarter of an hour.

"Dean?" Sam asked, and his brother looked up.

"Yeah?"

"Does Cas know _how_ to use a bathroom?"

Dean frowned, but turned his head to look at the door. The complete silence from they had been sitting in had included the silence from behind the closed foor. Not once had they heard the shower run, a faucet, the toilet. Just nothing.

"Maybe you should check on him?" Sam suggested, forehead crasing.

"The one who smelt it dealt it, Sammy." Dean retorted defensively.

"What-" Sam shook his head. "Don't be a child, Dean."

"Why don't you go?" He suggested, settling into his chair.

"Because you're the one who stayed by his bedside for days."

"So, clearly, it's your turn."

They both looked at each other, trying to out-stare the other. After a few seconds, Sam suggested another solution.

"Rock, paper, scissors?"

"Fine." Dean snapped. They both placed their right fists in their left palms, ready for battle.

Thirty seconds later, Dean was heading for the bathroom, leaving Sam chuckling at the table. He knocked on the door gently, clearing his throat. There was no answer.

"Cas?" He called, and finally he heard something.

"Yes?" A gruff voice replied, and Dean shook his head. Had Cas really never learnt what knocking on a door meant?

"You okay in there?" He asked, and there was a few seconds of silence.

"Yes." Was again the reply.

Dean looked over to Sam, who shrugged. Sighing, he put his palm on the handle. "I'm coming in, okay?"

No answer.

Dean pulled open the door, wincing in anticipation of what he might see.

Cas was standing in front of the sink, hands curled around the curve of the porcelain, staring in the mirror. Dean blinked in surprise, despite being prepared for any manner of bathroom activities. Somehow he hadn't been quite prepared for the sheer expanse of skin, naked from the waistband of his hospital pants up. The unflattering light above cast shadows on his back, trenches under his shoulder blades, each bump of his spine. From the door he could see the curve of his back around to his side, the soft skin under his arm. Dean wondered if he was ticklish.

"Uh," Dean stammered, and caught Cas's eye in the mirror, blue shining bright under the fluorescents. "Hi."

He didn't reply, instead just looked back at him, expression neutral.

"You know how to use a bathroom, right?" Dean asked nervously, and Cas frowned at him.

"Of course." Was the reply. "I witnessed Archimedes discover water displacement in his bathtub."

"Bit of a voyeur then?" Dean joked, and the frown deepened.

"All angels are voyeurs, Dean." He reminded him, and the frown dropped, sadness replacing it. The eye contact was dropped.

"Kinky bastards." Dean muttered, chuckling slightly. He glanced out of the door to Sam, who was still watching. Dean gave a barely perceptible shrug, and Sam flapped his hands at him. Apparently he should do more.

"So, uh." He began, before feeling self conscious of Sam's eyes still trained on him. He stepped into the bathroom, closing the door behind him. "What you doing?"

Cas stayed silent for a few seconds, and Dean considered back peddling, leaving the room. Who the hell asks a topless guy what they're doing in the bathroom? But when he looked at Cas again, he wasn't being shot the look he was expecting, not the frown, the confusion, the thinly veiled disgust at the personal nature of the question. And he certainly didn't give an obvious answer.

Instead Cas had turned back to himself, blue eye meeting blue in the mirror, shining perhaps a little too bright.

"My wings." He finally spoke, and Dean raised his eyebrows in surprise.

"W-" Dean started, taking a step back and looking around, as if he expected them to just manifest themselves in front of him. "Your wings?"

"They're not there." He explained, and Dean exhaled, relaxing.

"Okay..." He tried to understand.

"My wings were the most physical manifestation of my grace." He slowly explained, still not looking away from his reflection. "And even they are gone."

Dean softened, understanding. He took a step forward, hesitantly placing a hand on Cas's shoulder. "Sorry. Wish I could've seen them." He smiled, and Cas finally looked up at Dean again.

"They would have burnt your eyes from your skull in less than a second." He replied simply.

Dean blinked. "Probably for the best then." He muttered. Cas didn't speak for a minute, leaving Dean at a loss for words. Cas had looked away from him by now, but was also not looking at himself again. Instead, he was looking down, but not at anything in particular. Dean didn't know what to do. He wasn't great at these moments, talking about feelings, the emotional crap. He was far better at the practical approach; a bottle of whiskey and a pat on the back. Sam would've known what to say.

But, despite the urge to bolt, Dean stayed. Down in his gut, he knew that Cas had come back because Dean had asked him to, and while he knew if he were to think too hard on that he'd probably freak out, it meant that right now he had to be the one who was there for him. He was the one who had to deal with the fallout, even if that meant chick flick moments. So, instead of going back to Sam, he walked past Cas and sat on the edge of the bathtub, away from Cas's reflection and now able to see his face properly. If he was told to leave, so be it.

"The faucets on this suck worse than Sammy's taste in music. I don't care that you saw Archimedes sitting in the tub playing with himself, they didn't have running water back then." He reached over, grabbing the handles. "Hot, cold. Supposed to be, anyway. You kinda have to wait for it to stop having a panic attack over being turned on, then fiddle with it. Sam says he's gonna fix the pressure soon." He looked up at Cas, who was watching him, eyes following every move. "We'll fix you up with some clothes. The old suit got left behind at the hospital, hope you don't mind."

Cas frowned slightly. "They're only clothing."

"Yeah, but, you know." Dean shrugged, before he realised Cas probably didn't. He didn't keep the same outfit every day out of preference, it just had never occurred to him to change. "You'll be fine." He smiled reassuringly.

Cas still hadn't said anything to merit Dean staying in an enclosed space with a half naked man, and once again he was on the verge of leaving before deciding to push it just a little bit further.

"Did you think they were still going to be there?" He asked, nodding over Cas's shoulder when he received nothing but a confused look. "Your wings?"

"Oh." Cas glanced back to the mirror. "I hadn't considered it."

"But..."

"But, I had assumed I would have more time." He finished.

"And all of a sudden you're part of the human brigade."

"It's a coveted position, Dean." Cas told him. "We were told to love humans above God. Many angels would see this as a reward."

"Would they?" Dean asked, incredulous, and Cas closed his eyes in resignation.

"No." He admitted.

"Yeah, that's what I thought." Dean muttered, and he saw his friend lean forward slightly, resting his weight on the sink. "What do _you_ think?"

Cas opened his eyes, surveying his reflection again. "I don't know."

"Right." Dean exhaled. "Well, here's what I know." Cas looked back at him expectantly. "You had a choice, and you chose human. That means you get to stick around. So in my book? That's a good thing."

"You want me around." Cas surmised. "Even though I can't heal you when you're injured, I can't teleport-" He bit out. "I'm all but useless with no grace; I'm not the same 'Cas' you've always known."

"Since when are you ever the same Cas?" Dean joked. "When I first met you, you were a complete dick. Now, with the exception of maybe Sarah Michelle Gellar, you're the person I most want around." He stood up, looking Cas dead in the eye, and the angel moved from the sink to face him. Dean, despite himself, found his gaze dropping to Cas's chest, seeing the faint white lines of an old scar, a sigil that he had carved into himself to save them all.

He hadn't realised it had stayed; a constant reminder of all he had done for Dean. No, not for Dean; for humans. For free will, and family, and for life that he fought for that he now got to experience for himself. Dean wasn't so arrogant to believe it was for him.

He brought his eyes back up to Cas's face. "I don't know jack about grace. All I know, as far as I'm concerned, it's you in there. Always has been. Sometimes that wasn't always a good thing to hang on to, but I did." He smiled, though it didn't quite reach his eyes. He reached out, gripping Cas's shoulder. "And I am now. Whatever it is you've got crammed in that scrawny little body, it's the same Cas it's always been."

Dean watched his friend digest the words, saw his solemn face crack, just a little. Not a smile, but something close; warmth in the eyes, a slight twinge of the lips.

"Now, man;" Dean finished. "Side effect of being human, you need to shower. You've been in bed for days, you're a little ripe."

Dean left the half naked Cas to his shower, exiting the bathroom and closing the door with a solid click. Sam looked up expectantly.

"He knows how to use a bathroom."

Sam rolled his eyes. "Is he alright?"

"Uh, yeah, I think so." Dean told him as he sat down. He heard the shower start chugging into action beyond the wall. "As good as can be, I guess."

"What's that mean?" Sam asked, and Dean shrugged.

"Dude just gave up immortality and crap. He's kind of entitled to an existential crisis."

Sam raised his eyebrows at the long word, always pleasantly surprised when Dean said something longer that two syllables, but didn't comment. "So you think he's gonna be okay?"

"We'll look after him."

Sam nodded, accepting the responsibility in Dean's words. He had wanted Cas back just as much as Dean had. They heard the water tank change pitch as it adjusted itself, swiftly followed by a sloppy stumble from the other room, presumably Cas stepping backwards in surprise from the sudden temperature change. They both listened for a few seconds, making sure he was alright, before being satisfied he hadn't fallen in the tub.

"You need to fix that." Dean pointed out.

"I'll do it after he's out." Sam agreed. "So what even happened."

"When?"

"Earlier, when you called."

Dean's eyes flicked up a little too quickly. "He woke up."

"Clearly. I mean how? What got him up?"

"Nothing." Dean shrugged, but Sam wasn't buying it.

"He's dead to the world for days, and all of a sudden he just wakes up?" Sam asked incredulously. He didn't miss the slight flinch at the word 'dead'.

"Yeah."

"Dean." Sam barked, and Dean scowled.

"Fine!" He cried, exasperated. "He- I talked to him."

"Saying what?"

"Don't be such a girl, Sammy." He snapped. "I asked him to wake up, he woke up. Can't we leave it at that?"

"If that's all there was to it."

"What-" Dean frowned. "Are you asking if I made a deal?"

"No!" Sam blinked, shocked at the idea, then frowned back. "You didn't, did you?"

"Of course not." Dean retorted.

"Good!" Sam leant back. "So that's it? He just woke up 'cos you asked him to?"

Dean didn't reply, and Sam watched him for a minute as his elder brother gave in. "He died."

"What?!" Sam barked, a little too loudly, before leaning forward self consciously."What?" He repeated, voice barely above a whisper.

"Just for a minute or two," He sighed. Sam didn't say anything, prompting Dean with his silence. "He stopped breathing, then his heart too. I tried CPR, but it didn't work."

"But, he's alive?"

"Gold star, Sammy," He quipped. "I'd given up by then. He was gone. Lights out."

"So how come he's walking around?"

"Beats me." Dean replied. "First his pulse started up again, then he just sat up." He looked at his brother. "That's it. All that happened."

Sam looked to the bathroom, hearing the shower still going. "I ain't questioning it." Dean said stubbornly.

"Everyone said it was his choice, Dean." Sam reminded him. "He chose to wake up."

"That's what I'm going for." Dean sighed, scratching his arm, plucking at the material of his shirt. He looked down, and Sam didn't miss the expression on Dean's face. Sadness in there, always tattooed across, but also a touch of hope.

The conversation turned to the day's hunt, both wanting to mull on something else for a while.

* * *

Castiel eventually turned off the shower.

It had taken a while to become accustomed to the feeling, never having had a shower before, the fact that the water seemed intent on changing temperature every few minutes not helping the matter. He found cold too cold, how too hot, everything too much to him, skin more sensitive than it used to be. Eventually, he settled on just above body temperature, as best he could.

When he eventually shut off the water, he looked around, realising just how steamy he had allowed the room to become. A thick fog hung around, and he found that, once he pulled back the curtain, he could barely see the door.

He shook his head, trying not to think about how just a few days ago he would've been able to see through this with ease.

Gingerly, he stepped out from the tub, careful following his near fall earlier. Though he knew the mechanics and the physics of everything he was going, how to place his weight without slipping, without the strength of his grace his found each practise difficult. He felt like a child learning to walk, after crawling having been sufficient for so long.

His feet landed safely on the floor below, the slip of moisture on his feet nowhere near as hazardous on the linoleum and it had been on the porcelain. He looked around, catching sight of the mirror, noticing it too was fogged.

"Water vapour in the air." Cas muttered. "Introduce cold air to balance." He walked to the window on the far wall, fogged also, and tugged the wooden frame up. He shivered as a cool breeze instantly drifted in, and looked down at himself, seeing goosebumps forming on his skin. He frowned, the sensation uncomfortable, and he looked around. Seeing a towel handing beside the door, he grabbed it, wrapping it around himself. Looking down again he shifted it lower, leaving his chest bare, but hanging from his waist, covering all that he recognised would make Sam and Dean uncomfortable to see. Satisfied, he left the room, seeing the boys around the table, who both looked up at him.

Dean couldn't help his eyebrows rising in surprise as Cas walked out of the bathroom. Towel hanging low on his hips and dropping just above his knees, he cursed his idiocy. He was going to give Cas some clothes to wear, but he didn't think of giving him a people-sized towel. Water dripped from his hair and onto his shoulders, and Dean tried not to follow it with his eyes as it travelled down his chest. Cas was clearly cold, judging from the goosebumps on his arms and the way his nipples had sharpened...

"Dean!" Sam barked, and Dean flashed back to the present, shifting his legs under the table and turning to him.

"Hmmm?" He responded, a little too quickly, a little too high. His brother was looking at his as if he couldn't believe his eyes, a laugh half on his lips as he shook his head slightly. "What?" Dean asked defensively.

"Clothes." Sam told him. "You're closer his size than I am."

"Right. Clothes." Dean agreed, not looking back to Cas. He didn't need to see any more of the practically naked man, wet and dripping... "I'll go get some."

"Yeah." Sam scoffed. Cas looked on as Dean slid from the chair and walked away. He frowned, not understanding the reaction.

Dean stomped upstairs, having left his bag in the bedroom. He sighed , and slapped himself on the forehead. "Freak." He muttered, rearranging his jeans.

Cas stood for a few seconds after Dean had left, starting to feel self conscious. Something about his appearance had clearly unnerved the man, and he frowned, looking down at himself. Perhaps it was because he was so far removed from his usual attire. Assuming Sam would feel the same, he decided to sit down, assuming that at least the table would shelter some of him.

Sam smiled as he sat, pushing the laptop to the side. "I gotta tell you, Cas; it is so good to see you up and about again."

"Thank you."

"I heard you gave Dean a bit of a scare." He joked, pausing at the perplexed look on his face.

"What do you mean?"

"You stopped, for a minute." He explained carefully. "Dean said you stopped breathing, your heart stopped." He trailed off. Dean clearly hadn't told him. "Doesn't matter. You're breathing now, that's all that matters."

"Of course." Cas replied slowly. Dean hadn't mentioned it. "Uh, so what else happened?" He queried, and Sam leant back in his seat.

"Um," The hunter frowned, wondering how to recap. "You were in the hospital for a few days. We tried everything we could think of, every source we had, but you weren't waking up." He scratched at the side of his face, glancing up, knowing that Cas needed to know. "And Crowley stopped by. Plus half a hospital full of demons."

"Crowley." Cas repeated dully.

"Yeah. Balthazar helped with that, blasted the lot. I think Crowley got away, though."

"Balthazar is alright?" He asked, and Sam could see his face light up slightly. Of course he would be happy that his friend was safe; he had died bringing him back to life.

"Yeah, good as he ever was. Not sure how Livvie is, though."

Cas nodded.

"Then we came here. S'bout it." Sam shrugged. "Dean barely left your side." Sam shook his head. "This whole thing... it was tough on him."

Cas blinked, digesting the information, frowning as he felt a glimpse of something , a haze of what he saw whilst he hadn't been there. He looked at his hand, dimly remembering the ghost of Dean's words. Begging, pleading. Begging for Cas. He flexed his fingers subconsciously, trying to chase the memory.

He heard footsteps behind him, and he turned to see Dean coming back down the stairs, a bundle of clothes clutched in his hand, which he extended out to Cas.

"Haven't got much, we'll have to take you out for some of your own soon." He shrugged. "We'll get you fixed up, don't worry."

Cas reached out, taking the bundle, looking up at his friend with wide eyes, a small smile on his lips. "Thank you, Dean." He said sincerely, not noticing the slight colouring in the man's cheeks, the flustered look, the confusion.

"S'only clothes, Cas." He muttered.


	2. Chapter 2

One of the problems about sleep is that once you get some, your body just wants more and more of it. Sam and Dean who routinely live on less than 4 hours sleep a night, are absolutely capable of staying awake, researching for hours on end, spending long nights in the car on stake outs. Cas, however, in a body that, before a few years ago, was used to a healthy dose of 8 hours a night, and had been comatose for the best part of a week, was wilting.

"Come on, Cas!" Dean cried, nudging him again for the umpteenth time. "It's _Save The Whales_! It's a classic!"

Cas jolted awake again, blinking blearily as he tried to focus on the screen. From what he could understand, a group of people from the future had been transported back in time, and now they had to, as the film title suggested, save some endangered whales from an aquarium. It made little sense to him, and when he'd tried to point out the temporal flaws in the science of the film, Dean had cuffed him round the ear.

"I'm watching, Dean." He said, sitting up straighter, having slouched back slightly in fatigue.

"Dean," Sam sighed from across the room, still sitting at his laptop, but enjoying the film nonetheless. "Let him go to bed. Look at him, he's exhausted!"

"From what? Sleeping for days?" He scoffed, before pointing at the screen. "I'm educating the guy!" He looked back at Cas, a grin on his face as he looked to his friend. But, even Dean admitted, he looked beat. Eyes puffy and slightly bloodshot, squinting slightly as he tried to focus. Dean sighed, reaching for the remote and hitting the pause button. "Ah, fine, go to bed."

Cas looked round, slight surprise on his face. "That's not necessary. I'm capable of staying awake long enough to watch the film." He tried to smile, but found himself blindsided by a yawn, stretching his face.

His first yawn as a human, Dean noted.

"Nah," He sighed, clapping a hand on the smaller man's shoulder, who jolted under the pressure, surprised. Dean gave a little squeeze before letting go, smiling and looking to his knees. "Go get some shut eye. No point in falling asleep half way through this."

He nodded, lifting his hand to wipe across his eyes, sore and dry. A mild headache played across his brain, the light from the TV too bright in the room, too bright for his eyes, but he didn't complain. Forcing his eyes open, he heaved himself from the sofa, finding the tiredness in his limbs uncomfortable. He wondered if he would feel like this every night.

"I believe it's customary to say good night?" He asked half heartedly, already looking forward to the bed.

Dean chuckled, leaning back and looking up at Cas, amused at the sight of the sleepy, slightly swaying man standing in front of him. Wearing some old clothes of Dean's, a tatty ACDC shirt and a too-long pair of brown sweatpants. He looked ridiculous, the sight of his forearms on show was unsettling. The outfit swamped him; he looked pale and withered in it.

It suddenly didn't seem quite so funny to Dean any more.

"You want a bedtime story too?" He cranked the smile back on his face, happiness not faded, the fact that Cas was there, with him, good enough. "Night, Cas." He kicked a foot out, tapping Cas gently on the back of the knee. He stumbled slightly, surprised by the jolt. "You're making me miss the film."

Cas nodded, stepping aside and turning to Sam. "Goodnight." He sighed, stifling a yawn, and Sam smiled back in return. They both listened as Cas climbed the steps, the plodding footsteps echoing in the creaking cabin.

They sat in silence for a few minutes. Dean remained studiously focused on the screen, absentmindedly plucking at the material of his shirt. Sam watched the film too, smirking at his brother. It had been a long time since he'd seen Dean smile so much, so easily. Cas being back, being awake, had elated his brother immensely. For months, Dean had been a permanent raincloud, frown lines etched deep into his face, the smiles fake and rusty. Now, with his friend back, alive and human, he couldn't help the smiles. It was beautiful to behold, and Sam couldn't remember the last time he'd enjoyed the evening so much, simply by seeing his brother so happy.

"What?" Dean grunted from across the room, flicking a glance over.

"What?" Sam repeated innocently.

"You're staring. I got popcorn on my face, or something?" His tone was wary, daring Sam to say something. Dangling the bait to bite.

"It's just..." Sam sighed, closing the laptop. "You call me the geek." He chuckled, leaning back. Dean turned now, raising his eyebrows at his brother.

"What're you trying to say about Kirk?" He folded his arms, mimicking Sam.

"Of all the films to pick... Star Trek."

"Hey!" Dean cried. "It's a classic. And have you _seen_ Rufus's collection? There ain't much to choose from, unless you want me to show Mister Purity-Ring up there some NC17 stuff."

"Rufus's collection no good, then?" Sam asked, and Dean chuckled, looking back to the screen.

"Depends what you mean by 'good', Sammy."

* * *

The film was over. Dean was plucking at the fabric of the settee, glaring at the credits as they rolled, though clearly not taking any of it in. Sam didn't think he'd been watching for a while, now; the frown had been etched on his face for at least twenty minutes.

Sam glanced up again.

"Dean?" Sam called over, and his brother looked up, peering over the back of the furniture. "What's up?"

Dean hummed slightly, a huff as he mulled over what was going through his brain. "How human do you reckon Cas is gonna be?"

"Uh..." Sam leant back, pushing his laptop to the side. "His body is, I guess."

"Yeah, that's what I figured." Dean sighed. "This don't exactly come with a how-to guide."

Sam raised an eyebrow. "We know stuff about souls," he pointed out, and Dean cracked a wry smirk. "But Cas doesn't have one. He has grace. I don't know what's happened to that, though."

Dean nodded, absentmindedly scratching the stubble along his jaw. "Do you think he can be possessed?"

Sam hesitated, but then groaned slightly, seeing what Dean was thinking. "You think he needs to get inked up?"

Dean shook his head, though not in disagreement, more in resignation. "I don't wanna take any chances. " He muttered, looking back up to Sam. "We'll take him out tomorrow. Tat, clothes; get him sorted."

"Yeah, 'course." Sam agreed. Better to do it now, as soon as possible, rather than later, mid case, putting them all in danger.

Dean stood, flicking off the screen and dropping the remote on the couch. "Didn't we have an anti-possession charm in the car? Been floating around for ages."

"Yeah, I think so." Sam frowned. "Cas should be safe here, though. Rufus really proofed the place, and Bobby."

"Humour me, Sammy." He sighed, heading for the door.

The younger Winchester watched as his brother left the room, wrapping his jacket around himself in the cold chill of the air. Sam didn't see much possibility of Cas getting possessed in the car journey from the cabin to the nearest town, but he knew what his brother was considering. Dean was powerfully protective over his family, showing care to them that he showed little of to himself. If it made Dean feel better, Cas could wear the charm until he had something more permanent.

It took ten minutes to find the charm, rattling around the loose guns, knives and assorted useful items that really needed to be reorganised in the trunk. They hadn't taken the time to take the usual care in the matter, and he winced as he felt something damp in the rough fabric lining the trunk. Nice. He'd probably just change cars, rather than bother cleaning up that, probably pungent, mess.

Locating the small silver charm, dulled by the years since Bobby had given it to them after Sam had been possessed. Shaking off the memory, he slammed the trunk, twisting the chain along his fingers, swinging the weighted end as he walked back up the steps and into the cabin. Waving it to Sam as he walked past, he closed the door behind him, and trudged up the stairs leading to the bedroom.

Cas hadn't bothered to close the door to the room. As Dean climbed the last steps, he saw the bed appear with each movement up, followed by the bump of feet, and then, as he reached the top, he could see the man himself, sleeping in full view.

Dean froze, hand on the banister. Cas was still, very still, lying flat on his back, as if he had learnt to sleep from a textbook. Dean felt the chain slide from his hand slightly as his chest tightened, throat closing up slightly. He felt panic slowly work its way up as he stared.

It was irrational, he knew that. Cas was alive, Cas was here. He wasn't half way through the veil anymore, it wasn't touch and go whether he'd wake up. He'd spent the evening watching Star Trek with them, for crying out loud.

Dean knew this, but that didn't change the fact that his body was frozen as he looked into the room, the deathly still body on the bed chilling him to his core.

"You get that now that he's not in a coma, watching him sleep is just plain creepy, right?" Sam called up from the bottom of the stairs.

Dean flinched, glancing down at his brother. "Shut it, goldilocks." He grumbled, watching as his brother chuckled and turned the corner.

Sighing, he climbed the final step, treading into the room. He winced, the first foot falling a little heavy on the floorboards, a thump echoing round the room. Cas didn't stir.

Dean didn't know if that was a good or a bad thing.

He trod quieter, his heavy shoes still sounding in the room, but as they rang as quietly as he could muster. He crossed the room quickly, reaching the bedside and dropping the charm on it. No way was he putting it on the guy himself. He could manage to not get jumped until morning.

Sighing again, he let himself look up once more at the man in the bed. Now closer up, he could see him in full detail, the slow in and out of his chest as he breathed, the slight hushed whisper of air. From here he could see that Cas wasn't lying completely flat, but that his head was tilted slightly to the right.

Shaking his head slightly, he reached down, the movement familiar, knowing the precise spot even as he looked away, looked up at the ceiling. The strong, steady pump of Cas's heartbeat was there, strong under his fingertips.

Snatching his hand back he pulled away, curling his fingers into a fist, trying to push away the echo of the warmth that he had felt, the lingering memory of the pulse. Grabbing his duffle bag, still lying at the foot of the bed, he threw it over his shoulder, heading for the door.

"Dean?" He heard a mumble, and paused, frozen with his hand on the doorknob. He glanced over his shoulder, seeing the sleepy man sit up a little, bleary eyed, and completely adorable, still sleeping in the clothes he had been loaned.

Dean shook the thought from his head.

"Anti-possession charm, left it for you on the nightstand." He told him, cracking a smile at the perplexed look on the man's face. "We'll get you something more permanent soon."

"Okay." Was the simple reply, and Cas reached for it, hands lazy with sleep but managing to grasp it.

"Go back to sleep, Cas." Dean told him, turning away and traipsing back down the stairs.


	3. Chapter 3

Serene.

That's the best way to describe it.

It's familiar and warm. Comfortable. Safe.

All around him, everything is clean and white. As far as the eye can see. That isn't far. A thick fog hangs low and heavy, but pure and heady, unobtrusive, unlike earlier.

_Earlier_.

Castiel feels the ground slip beneath his feet, a wet slide, the damp of the fog giving way underneath him and his stomach feels like he's been punched, a deep tug in his gut and he's falling,

Suddenly, there's no ground beneath his feet, none at all. He's falling, feet first, scrambling for anything to cling on to, hands flailing, mouth open in a yell that gets lost up above, up in the clean white fog that was once comforting but now as terrifying as the fall, unable to see where he's going, what he's doing, and he's twisted, body contorted as he tries to hide, to climb back up and finding nothing and suddenly he can see the ground, just a few meters below and he can see his shadow getting closer and closer and closer and he's falling and it's going to hurt-

His body jolts, the squishy mattress too soft underneath him, too much give and he bounces as he's suddenly upright, scrambling to find his balance on the unstable surface, disorientated and terrified and the room is too noisy and too dull and he can't see. His throat hurts and it takes him a second to notice that the noise is coming from him, hard and grating and rough yelling out of his throat, the sound forcing its way up.

He's not alone, Sam crowding through the doorway, Dean half a step behind him, both looks of terror on their face. He can hear them asking what's wrong, he can see the fear in their eyes, the panic in Dean's, the sudden recognition as he realises what's happening. He feels a hand on his arm, but he can't tell whose, and he stops yelling, the noise petering out in his throat, scratching and fading and all he can do is breathe and scramble away, getting away, stumbling as he disentangles himself from the sheets that are damp from sweat, pushing past the Winchesters and running down the stairs, bare feet on the floorboards and the rugs and out the door and suddenly on gravel and then on grass and he's still going until he can feel the cool air in his lungs and can hear himself breathe and he can feel his heartbeat and he can hear birds in the trees above him.

He dropped to his knees, palms flat on the ground, the damp grass peeking through his fingertips. It was only then that Cas noticed the cold silver metal in his hand.

* * *

Sam looked up when he heard the sound of yelling, deep and dark and desperate, instinctively looking for Dean, not unused to his brother's nightmares. The first few times he'd helped, but he quickly learnt that Dean didn't want him at times like that.

But it wasn't Dean. His elder brother had sat bolt upright the same instant that Sam had, ignoring the ache that he must have been feeling from spending the night on the floor. In the instant that it took them to realise that it wasn't either of their yelling that was ringing through the cold cabin, they were on their feet, clambering for the stairs to Cas.

Sam got there first, faster than Dean, shoved aside as his massive frame took up the entire doorway. Cas was thrashing in the bed, limbs twisted and tangled, his head turned to the side as far as it would go, tendons pulled so far they jut out in his neck. They had only just made it into the room when Cas's eyes snapped open and he was upright, hands clawing at the covers, the metal of the chain tying two fingers together, clearly lost, confused, absolutely freaking terrified. Dean stepped forwards, trying to keep the fear from his face but probably failing, recognising suddenly what was happening. Cas had had a nightmare. A really bad one.

Instinctively he reached out, placing a hand on Cas's arm, trying to anchor him down.

"Dean, don't-" Sam warned him, understanding the instinct to protect, to comfort. He'd tried it a few times himself, and each time was the same.

As Sam had expected, Cas flinched at the touch, jerking out of the loose grip and bouncing in the bed as he scrambled away, almost falling from the bed in a need to get out. Dean jumped back at the movement, and Sam spared a look at him. He looked like he'd been slapped.

They followed as Cas ran down the stairs, lagging back, watching him as hurtled out of the door, running out and under the trees, stopping eventually, tiny in the distance. They had ran after him, keeping their distance, but not letting him get too far.

"Nightmare." Sam commented redundantly, taking a step forward, towards Dean.

"Yeah, I got that, thanks." Dean muttered back, not taking his eyes off the small figure.

"Man..." Sam sighed. "Are you going to go after him?"

Dean glanced round at Sam. "Yeah, like that's gonna help."

"It might."

Dean straightened up, shaking his head, wiping a palm across his mouth.

* * *

Cas didn't know how long he stayed there, kneeling in the grass. He didn't notice he was shivering for a long time, aftershocks of panic still running through him, clutching tightly onto the anti-possession charm until the metal dug into the flesh of his palm painfully, the pattern leaving an imprint. The damp sunk through the material of the sweatpants, and his legs became numb, peaceful in the cold.

Eventually, despite the damp and the cold and the shivers, he calmed down. If anything, these helped, grounding him in his body, dispelling the nightmare that was rapidly fading from his memory. The sense of unease stayed, but even that began to drift away, lulled into a state of complacency, the birdsong and the soft rustling of the trees above him soothing away the ache in his chest. Even the cool air felt like a caress.

As he clutched the blades of grass in his hand, he became aware of the soft noise of crunching, footsteps coming up behind him. He sighed, his chin hanging against his chest, slightly annoyed at the interruption just as he was beginning to feel soothed.

"You'll catch a cold if you stay there much longer." A voice behind him softly announced. Cas didn't look round, he didn't have to. He'd know that voice anywhere.

"The common cold can't be caught from cold temperatures." He replied, pulling at the blades of grass with the pads of his fingers.

"Yeah, but pneumonia can be." Dean corrected himself. "That one ain't so fun, either."

They stayed silent for a moment, and Cas could feel Dean's eyes on his back. It was an odd sensation, the feeling of being watched, without seeing it happening. It made little logical sense.

Dean watched Cas, a close eye on him. He was shaking, whether from the cold or the nightmare he didn't know, though perhaps it was a combination of the two. Cas didn't seem to be minding the cold, despite the fact that his arms were bare, and dean sighed, tugging off one of his shirts and stepping up to Cas, putting it around him carefully. He didn't miss the flinch at the touch, but noticed that his friend didn't actually move away, or shrug off the fabric.

Cas looked up, weary eyes looking up at Dean. He had dark circles under his eyes, and the Winchester wondered how much of the night had been spent in restless sleep.

"Is that what nightmares feel like?" Cas asked quietly, and Dean sighed, shrugging slightly as he turned away, looking into the forest.

"Guess you've never had one before." Dean contemplated. He realised how strange it must have seemed, to someone who was unused to it. Falling into unconsciousness only to think you were awake. Being completely safe but thinking that you were not, that something was after you, reliving worst memories. It sucked that he'd started with a nightmare, and not a dream.

"No." Cas agreed. "I can count the amount of times I have fallen asleep on one hand. I haven't had much opportunity to dream." He plucked the blade of grass, holding it in his hand, ignoring a shiver that shook his entire body. "I've walked into yours many times, but it never.." He looked up to his friend standing a foot away, whose face turned to a frown. "I witnessed your fear but never was able to feel it for myself."

Dean took a step back, slouching back against a tree. He knew Cas had visited his dreams on more than one occasion, he knew that Cas had been there at times when he had woken up screaming. They never talked about it, and any other time Dean would protest it, would have shrugged it off, called Cas a lurker, a pervert. But right now? With Cas shivering on the frosty ground, the echo of his nightmare still sitting in the shadows under his eyes.

"One of the perks of being human, Cas." He sighed, scratching at the overnight stubble along his jaw. He remembered one of the many nightmares he had, a specific one, one that was probably closer to memory than to imagination. He was down in the pit, and he was carving and clawing into a soul, reaching the heart, the deepest part... and then the memory turned, flowing bright and clean, whiting out and suddenly there was something else, someone. Familiar bright, blue eyes and a stoic expression, taking the tools from his hands and tugging him away, one firm hand burning into his shoulder.

The second part of the dream took a while to solidify. For the first few months it never would, only staying down there, tearing and ripping and slicing and dicing and he would wake up screaming. The first time that Castiel appeared in his dream to save him was the first time that Cas had been there when he woke up.

He didn't want to think about the fact that he'd probably been calling for the angel in his sleep.

And then he remembered when he was a kid, and all the times that he and Sam had shared a room, a bed. And the times that Sam would wake up screaming from a nightmare, would cling to Dean and fall asleep against him.

"You know," Dean began. "I don't have a bed here. Sammy gets the couch, you have the bed."

"I'm sorry, I didn't mean-"

"No, man," Dean waved his hand, cutting him off. "All I mean is, the floor ain't comfy. And, well, the chair in your room is."

"You want to sleep in the chair?" Cas clarified, peering up, frowning slightly.

"If you don't mind sharing a room." Dean shrugged. "Whatever." He reached out a hand, offering it to his friend. "We should get going. Got stuff we need to get done today."

Cas stared at the hand as if baffled by it, before slowly taking it, allowing Dean to heft him to his feet and make their way back to the cabin.

* * *

_Reviews are, as always, greatly appreciated. _


	4. Chapter 4

They pulled into town at half eleven. They'd driven past three towns, two that didn't seem to have a tattoo parlour in sight, and one that looked like they might get hepatitis just from walking in the door. The fourth was finally sizable, even containing a shopping mall, and a large library that Sam was keen to check out. Bypassing the tattoo parlour, they headed straight for the mall.

"You missed the establishment." Cas pointed out, and Dean turned briefly, shooting Cas a smile.

"You wanna go shopping after getting a tat?" He asked, chuckling as he turned back to the road, parking smoothly. "We'll do that last."

Cas nodded, not quite understanding, but didn't push it. When they parked, he climbed out the car, closing the door behind him. Sam and Dean were already out, bickering.

"What're you even researching?! We're not on a hunt." Dean asked his brother.

"We're _always_ on a hunt, Dean." Sam replied, picking up his bag through the window. "You just don't want to go shopping."

"Come on, let's swap." He told him, slapping him on the arm. "What we researching? Leviathans? I can do that."

"Dean, you _hate_ research."

"Yeah, well, I hate shopping for clothes." He snapped, shoving his hands in his pockets.

"Whatever." Sam chuckled, slinging the bag over his shoulder. "See you later. Have fun!" He called, walking away. Dean watched, sulking slightly, a small pout on his face as Cas approached him.

"We're shopping for clothes?" Cas clarified, and Dean sighed.

"Come on."

* * *

Dean groaned as they walked to the clothes shops in the mall, seeing the skeletal mannequins laden with whatever excuse for 'fashion' was current right then. He moved them past the worst of the offenders, leading Cas into one that seemed as neutral as it could get.

Dean hated clothes shopping.

"Alright, get on with it." He told Cas, who looked at him in confusion, and, Dean noticed with a chuckle, no small measure of panic in his eyes.

"You aren't going to help?" He asked, and Dean shook his head.

"I don't do 'clothes shopping'." He told him with a shudder. "Shoulda called Sam."

* * *

Less than five minutes later, he was back a Dean, arms laden with clothes, the look of panic transformed into mild horror.

"Seriously?" Dean asked as Cas stood there, almost dropping a shirt with, swear to freaking God, frills. "You want everything there?"

The look on his friends face told him everything; he had no idea what he wanted.

"Jeez, okay." Dean stopped, wiping his palms on his jeans before plucking at the items he'd picked. The first, a fluorescent yellow shirt, Dean dropped behind him on the chair, shaking his head. "Yeah, way to be subtle." He said. "Great freaking beacon." Muttering, he picked the next one, a shirt that would have been fine, had it not been about twelve sizes too big. He continued to pick through, getting more and more exasperated, throwing behind him what was definitely a woman's dress, and the thing with frills on earlier.

"Okay." He sighed, gesturing for Cas to dump the rest on the chair for some poor member of staff to clear later. "What you wanna do is _blend_." He explained.

Cas hesitated, trying to understand. "Colours?" He finished, earning a roll of the eyes from Dean.

"No, not c-" He snapped, resisting the urge to punch. He couldn't believe he was going to do this. "In. Blend _in_, Cas. We work best when we don't draw attention by being dressed in a high-vis vest." He gestured down at the sleeve of the first jacket.

Cas nodded, clearly trying to understand. The look of panic hadn't left his eyes.

"Fine!" Dean barked. "I'll help."

He brushed past him, exasperated, as Cas tried to keep up. "Thank you." Cas whispered.

"Shut it." Dean snapped, moving around the racks. "Okay, you're... a medium." He looked at Cas, frowning. "Or a small. A big small. Or a small medium."

"The women's section seems to have more variety in sizes-"

"We are not buying you chick-clothes." Dean told him, spinning on his heel and holding up a finger in his face. "No." He picked up a random shirt, holding it up against the man, swapping it back and forth with another. "Medium." He decided.

He dropped the smaller one back on the rack, before holding the other up for Cas to inspect. "Okay, what do you think?"

"Of the shirt?"

"Yes."

Cas squinted, eyeing it up. Plain soft cotton, a teal green, with sleeves that came down to his wrists.

Dean sighed, spinning the man round to face the mirror, placing the shirt in front of him.

"It's a very similar shade to that of your eyes." He suggested. Dean dropped it instantly.

"Seriously. Don't make it weird." He put it down on the rack with the other, rolling his eyes when Cas plucked at the sleeve.

"How do you and Sam choose clothing?" Cas asked, dutifully moving onto the next rail, not really looking at the clothes.

"We fix what rips, and buy the same stuff again when it's too far gone." He told him, watching carefully as Cas paused at a plan blue shirt that was a shade very close to Cas's own eyes. He shook away the thought, taking it out of the rail and making Cas face the mirror again, holding it up for inspection.

"You both wear a lot of plaid." He pointed out.

"Yeah..."

"Why?"

Dean sighed. "Sam should be here." Grumbling, he nodded at the shirt for Cas's reaction, who took it in his own hands, placing it carefully over his arm. Dean guessed that one was sticking.

"Plaid is..." Dean began, before snapping round, holding up his hand to Cas. "You tell anyone I gave you fashion advice and you're finding a new set of stupidly patient hunters to live with."

"Understood."

"Plaid is simple." He explained, reaching for a plaid shirt. "Common pattern. If it gets dirty, you notice it less 'cos it's already got enough colours in it. And, like I told you, it blends. Casual." He winced, looking away from Cas, who dutifully too the shirt, slinging it over his arm. "You get enough, wear them as layers so you keep warm. Plus, change 'em often so, if anyone's around to see you more than a day at a time, you look like you at least bothered to change your shirt." He cleared his throat uncomfortably. "And it's manly. Lumberjacks and crap."

Cas paused, taking another plaid shirt. "You care a lot whether you're 'manly'." He commented, and Dean raised an eyebrow, crossing his arms.

"And?"

"Just an observation." He told him, picking another, placing it over his arm. "It's just that, gender is an almost entirely societal concept."

"Where're you going with this?"

"You and Sam live on the fringes of society. It's odd that you should care so much."

"Okay, enough plaid." He told him, stopping Cas as he reached for a fifth, seemingly set on getting the entire damn rainbow.

"Perhaps it was growing up with your father, and his military background?"

"And enough of that conversation." Dean interrupted.

Cas looked up. "I've offended you?"

"You haven't offended me. Just, we're not discussing this while we're shopping for clothes."

Cas nodded, agreeing to Dean's terms, stepping to the next rail, picking up a grey top with a wide neck, a deep slit in the centre with an embroidered hem. He picked it up, holding it in front of him in the mirror. He didn't notice Dean's expression.

"What are you, a hippy?" He asked, the joke catching in his throat. Hair a little longer, stubble just a bit thicker, and he'd look just like him.

"I did admire the movement," Cas mused, tilting his head as he surveyed himself. "Pacifism in the face of annihilation."

"Right." Dean said, clamming up. He turned around, plucking at a pair of jeans.

* * *

They left the shop fifteen minutes later with four plaid shirts, the blue, the grey, the green cotton one that Cas had managed to pick back up, and two pairs of jeans. Dean, by then, was thoroughly tired of shopping, but he knew there was another vital stop.

"Suit." Dean told him, leading Cas into a tailor.

"Like I used to wear." Cas clarified.

"Yeah, but better. I've been watching you go round in the cheap suit for the past three years. We're getting you a decent one."

"What was wrong with Jimmy's?" Cas asked.

"It didn't fit!" Dean explained. "It was too big and your damn tie was always on backwards."

"You allowed me to wear a bad suit for three years?"

Dean stopped, looking round, surprised. It was only then that he noticed a slight smirk on Cas's lips. They guy was teasing him.

"Yeah, and that's my limit."

* * *

Another twenty minutes passed while Cas got measured. Personally, Dean found the tailor a little too ambitious, not quite getting the idea of a 'cheap suit' that actually fitted. "Come on, he's not getting married." Dean cried at one point, but only received a single eyebrow raised for his efforts. What were fake credit cards for, he guessed.

It was worth it when Cas finally stepped out of the dressing room. Dean leant back, raising his eyebrows in slight surprise. Cas was alternating between looking down at himself, and into the mirror. Finally in a suit that fit him, he looked crisp and neat; the shoulders of the black jacket sat well, showing the actual size of his shoulders, rather than swamping him as before. Buttoned at the front, he no longer seemed to be rectangular, but had the slightest hint of a waist hidden beneath the fabric. The collar was open, showing just a hint of a collar bone, pale skin exposed, and the slacks, no longer too big, accentuated his legs.

Dean had to admit it; Cas looked hot.

_Good! Smart. Professional._ Dean smothered the word that his brain had too quickly supplied, eyes snapping away from where Cas's pants sat snugly on his ass.

"This accessory is problematic." Cas said as he struggled to put on the tie. Dean stood up, readjusting his jeans, walking over to him, focusing hard on the tie.

"Guess I gotta teach you how to use these, huh?" He asked, his voice a little too gruff as he flipped up the collar, fastening the last button and wrapping the material around.

"I've never put one on without angelic assistance." He muttered, and Dean couldn't help but look up, smiling at the quip.

Continuing on, Dean created the knot. "It ain't hard." He told him as he worked. "Twist round, under, over, through." He finished off, not bothering to properly teach Cas, making a mental note to do it properly later. Tightening the knot, bringing it up to rest under the collar, he squeezed it in his palm, looking back up at Cas. He was close, far too close; after all the times that he'd told Cas off for encroaching into his personal space, here was he, stepping closer than he could remember Cas ever doing so. Holding onto the guys tie, no less.

As he looked into Cas's eyes, he couldn't quite bring himself to step back, step away from his friend. He could feel the soft tickle of his breath against his face. He should be moving back, brushing it off with some macho joke, get a beer, shoot some pool, watch some porn and jerk off in the shower. This wasn't what he did. He didn't do this.

"Dean?" Cas asked, and Dean's eyes flicked down catching his name on his dry lips. He needed to get the guy some chapstick.

"Ahem."

Dean finally relinquished the tie, turning round to see the tailor behind them, clearing his throat, interrupting the scene.

"He'll take the suit." Dean said, stepping back to the chair, wiping his palms on his jeans.

* * *

_Thanks for all the reviews so far, keep them coming! _


	5. Chapter 5

After a quick lunch, they drove back across town, pulling up outside the tattoo parlour. He could see a woman with two children clearly on the way back from the shops, a man jogging, a woman walking her dogs.

Dean leaned out of the car window, peering at the parlour. As he opened the door and stepped out he squinted at the displays in the shop window, pulling a face at the sight of the different types of piercings, specifically those with stretched earlobes. He grimaced at the sight of the holes in the flesh, thinking about how easy it would be to hook a finger through them, a claw, tear the skin. It would be as irresistible as a target.

He shook his head, taking a step towards it, looking back to Cas who was hesitantly getting out of the car, similarly staring up at the shop-front with trepidation.

"Come on, chuckles," He called over, grinning at the man. "Let's get you demon proofed."

Cas's face turned sour, gaze turning to Dean in annoyance, who merely grinned wide in response.

"Chicks love ink on a guy." He pointed out by way of persuasion.

"The purpose of this isn't to improve my vessel aesthetically." He reminded him, and Dean shrugged.

"Doesn't hurt. Well..." He commented, grinning to his friend as he stepped out of the car. "It does, but you'll be fine."

"I can tolerate pain." Cas told him, taking a step forward. "But are you certain this establishment is sterile?"

"Didn't you see me drive past the skeevy place in the last town?" He asked. "I won't let you get an infection or anything. You'll be fine." He looked properly at Cas's face, seeing the apprehension, the worry. His face screwed up as he also looked warily at the stretched lobes. "Trust me."

The man's eyes flickered back to Dean, softening at the words. "Of course."

* * *

"So where do you want it?" Dean asked, looking at Cas as he wandered the room, peering at the displays of generic tattoos that were probably plastered across every wall of every tattoo parlour. Cas spared a glance to him, briefly looking away from the picture of a dolphin.

"As its functionality isn't altered by its position, I'm indifferent." He explained, moving on to a picture of a heart with a knife stuck through it.

"Yeah," Dean shrugged, settling down into a chair. "But it's gotta go somewhere."

Looking closer at the board, Cas didn't turn round this time. "How did you and Sam choose where to put yours?"

"Dunno." He tried to remember, running a hand through his hair as he recalled, frowning slightly in concentration. "Sam chose, I think. Something about it being close to the heart. Such a girl." He chuckled, looking at Cas as the man reached out and stroked a fingertip down a yin-yang symbol. "How about your lower back?" He grinned.

Cas turned round at that, an eyebrow raised in what Dean perceived as incredulity, and to his surprise, slight sarcasm. "A tramp stamp." Cas stated. "Sam warned me that you might suggest that."

"Spoilsport." Dean smiled, looking down as his friend moved further along the wall, looking at a rose as he reached into a pocket of his shirt, pulling out Bobby's old whiskey flask and handing it to Cas, shaking it a little when he didn't immediately take it.

"It'll help." He told him.

Cas frowned at it as if offended. "I don't require alcohol to get through this." He told him.

"Nature's painkiller." Dean smirked, sloshing it again until Cas reluctantly took it. "Trust me."

Cas unscrewed the top, looking doubtful, but dutifully took a sip, wincing at the flavour. He tried to smother the cough as he handed the flask back to Dean, who chuckled at him.

"That has a very unpleasant flavour." He grumbled, wiping his mouth. "I don't see the appeal."

"Acquired taste. So come on," He stood up, walking over and leaning against the wall. "Where are you going to get it."

"How do I decide?"

"You're the one who's going to see it every time you look in the mirror." He reminded him.

Cas tilted his head, moving on to the next display, frowning at the more gothic images before him, skulls and devils and all manner of things he would prefer not be to permanently stuck to him. "You realise that the bible says not to do this?" He reminded him, a small smile on his lips.

"Leviticus, man." Dean shook his head. "It also says not to wear those jeans with that shirt, but you haven't been struck down yet."

The tattooist came back in the room, a polite smile on her face. She had long blonde hair, tied up tight at the base of her skull, and full sleeves of tattoos running up her arms. Dean could also see another creeping up the side of her neck, partially covered by her shirt.

Cas had settled into the chair by this point, or as settled as he was ever going to get. It reminded him of stolen trips to the dentist that Dean had taken Sam to when they were younger; they may have been freaks on the fringes of society, but there was no way his little brother was going to grow up with buck-teeth. Even if there was a good chance that those teeth might later get knocked loose in a fight.

"Hi," The girl smiled, looking from Cas to Dean and back again. "I'm Kirsty."

Dean nodded at her, a wide smile across his face. "Dean," He said, before nodding to Cas. "Cas."

"Cas and Dean, nice to meet you." She sat down, pulling on gloves. "So what are we doing today?"

Dean pulled out the picture from his pocket, smoothing it out before he gave it to her. "That's going on Cas." He explained, watching her carefully as she looked it over.

"It's a little rough, but I can figure it out." She mused, and Dean frowned, insulted.

"Rough?" He repeated, and she glanced over. "No, you gotta get it perfect."

"I'm sure I can." She smiled, glancing to Cas, who was silently watching the conversation. Dean sighed, pulling at his collar.

"This." He said, allowing practicality to overcome his pride. "That's what he's getting."

She raised her eyebrows before sliding off the stool, leaning over and taking the collar of the shirt between her fingers, tugging it down to get a better look. "Matching tattoos, huh?" She smiled. "Neat."

"Yeah, not exactly..." Dean sighed, not pushing it. She took a few more seconds before grabbing the sketch, taking a pen to it and filling in the parts that needed work. After a short minute she looked up, looking to Cas, who was still sitting there silently.

"Okay, where'd you want it?" She asked, all warmth and reassurance. Cas looked over to Dean, who shrugged. "Having trouble deciding?" She asked, sitting down.

Cas glanced at the mirror, remembering Dean's earlier words. For the rest of his life, this would be a permanent, visible feature on his body. He would see it every time he looked in the mirror, he would have an ever present reminder that he was less than what he used to be. He wasn't an all powerful angel, he wasn't invulnerable to having his agency removed from this body and something else jumping in. It was a badge displaying his weaknesses.

"My back." He said, looking away from the mirror and towards Kirsty. "_Upper_ back." He emphasised.

* * *

She had raised an eyebrow when Cas had first removed his top, slight surprise showing at the risen scar across his chest, the old angel sigil that looked more than a little confusing and sinister to her. She shook her head, trying not to entertain the idea that these two men were involved in some form of cult, with matching pentagram tattoos on every member.

She traced the pattern quickly and efficiently, the design simple compared to those that she's done in the past. Smiling, she held up the mirror to show the man what she had done, but instead he looked to Dean, trusting his eyes over his own. After it was deemed acceptable, she swapped equipment.

"First tat?" She asked as she set up, and Cas nodded. "Okay, that's fine." She kept her voice calm and easy, professional, sensing her customer was nervous. "It hurts a little bit. You might wanna hold your friends hand." She glanced over to Dean, who blinked in surprise.

"Why would I want to do that?" Cas asked in confusion. He'd never understood the practise.

"Some people find it helps. Usually does." She patted him on the shoulder. "Okay, this is going to hurt, so you're going to need to relax for me." He frowned, but allowed himself to droop. "You ready?"

"Yes." He told her simply, tensing as he felt the first sharp point of pain on his skin.

* * *

It had been a few minutes since she had started, and Cas was already sweating, teeth gritted against the pain. He hadn't said anything, ignoring Kirsty as she made small talk with Dean, failing to do so with Cas himself. He found himself staring hard at the yin-yang symbol on the wall, gripping tightly onto the armrests of the seat.

"How you doing there, buddy?" Dean asked, leaning into Cas's line of vision. The man didn't shift his gaze until Dean became completely intrusive, forehead positioned directly in front of the picture.

"I'm fine, Dean." He spat out, determined not to let any outward sign of pain escape him. Dean, of course, wasn't buying it.

"Sure you are." He chuckled, glancing at Kirsty. She smiled, aware of his eyes on her, but didn't look up, focused on smooth black lines that were growing across Cas's back. Dean looked round, taking a glance, and Cas couldn't help but follow Dean's movements, stopping when he felt his skin tug in pain where the tattoo was growing. He turned back, refocusing his attention on the picture.

"Lookin' good." Dean commented, watching as under Kirsty's careful hands the pattern slowly came to life. She paused, stopping to mop the design, wiping away the dark mix of ink and blood, and he smiled, leaning back round to look at Cas. He felt a surge of pride as he watched his friend, knuckles white around the armrests of the chair, forehead slightly shiny with sweat, hunched over, shying away from the pain. He hadn't said one word of complaint since the ordeal had started, and Dean knew that he wouldn't utter a single one. It had to hurt, a lot; the former angel, still so unused to his body, must be feeling everything so acutely, in such detail.

Cas winced briefly as the needle worked over his spine, before plastering the poker-face back on, teeth gritted perhaps a little tighter than before. She soothingly petted his shoulder. "Try and relax, Cas," she told him, glancing over to Dean. He caught Kirsty's look, her quick flick of her eyes down to his hands. He knew what she was thinking. But that wasn't him. He wasn't the hand-holder, he wasn't the comforter. He patched up wounds, he gave pats on the back, he gave a shot of whiskey and a hundred bucks to go see a hooker. He didn't hold hands.

Glancing down, he looked back to Cas's own hands, seeing the brutally tight clench of his fingers around the chair, knuckles so white they may as well have been the bone beneath the skin. Had he still been an angel, he would have easily broken the furniture by now. Had he still been an angel, he wouldn't have needed to do this at all.

Swallowing his pride, Dean leaned over, prying one hand from the chair. Cas twitched, his head snapping round instantly in shock at the new sensation, looking at Dean in confusion as he allowed his hand to be moved.

"What are you doing?" He asked, voice even lower than usual, strained from the pain.

Dean squeezed the hand. "Don't make it weird." He told him, to which the look of confusion on Cas's face only deepened, mouth dropping open slightly as he tried to understand what was happening. The act itself distracted him for a few seconds before the pain struck up again, and Dean felt the hand clutch tightly around his own, his fingers crushed together too tight. He didn't let any of this show, however; merely smiling and covering it with both of his own, not missing the small smile of appreciation that Cas gave to him.

Being a simple enough design, the tattoo was finished within a couple of hours. Dean tried his best to keep his frustrated sighs to a minimum, but damn, he got bored. There's only so long that you can hold a topless man's hand before you start to feel awkward, and Dean got there pretty fast, hyper aware of the fact that Cas, his Cas, was half naked, shining slightly with sweat and shaking slightly. Cas seemed not to notice the discomfort that Dean was feeling, the grip vicelike, even as he zoned out, seeming almost hypnotised by the picture on the wall. The pain seemed to have died down after Kirsty had sprayed something that she claimed would numb it, but Cas's arms still shook, his knuckles brutally white every time she worked over his spine.

"I think I'm done." Kirsty finally said, leaning back, admiring her work. Motioning to Dean, who peered over, a smile wide on his face as he looked over the perfect design.

"Yeah." Dean agreed, smiling easily at her. "It's good."

Cas visibly drooped, body apparently feeling the ache and tiredness of being stationary and strained for so long. Dean took the opportunity to pull his hand away, wiping the damp onto his jeans as Kirsty began to carefully clean the ink off.

"I'll get the mirror so you can see it, Cas." She suggested, but he shook his head.

"That won't be necessary." He told her, rolling his shoulders, wincing at the tug of raw skin.

"You don't wanna see it?" Dean asked, a frown on his face. Cas turned, picking up on the confusion on his tone.

"I have seen yours many times-" Kirsty raised an eyebrow as she prepared the aftercare. "I, in fact, recreated it. I know what it looks like."

Dean and Kirsty shared a look, but the hunter shrugged. "I'll make sure he sees it later." He assured her. "He just woke up on the wrong side of the bed today."

"What defines the 'wrong side'?" Cas asked, wincing as the plastic film touched his tender skin.

Dean frowned, biting back the snappy comment about his morning nightmare. No need to be a dick about it. "It's a phrase." He snapped. Kirsty glanced up as she smoothed the bandage with gentle hands.

"All done." She repeated, a little too chipper. "I'll give you two a minute." She walked out of the door, closing it behind her.

Dean leant back on his chair, watching Cas as he stood up, reaching for his shirt, clearly suppressing another wince at the tug of skin. He wondered what Cas's problem was, what specifically was putting him in such a bad mood. Of _course_ he had a right to be in a less than jubilant mood, he was newly human, he'd just sat through the hours of what was probably fairly brutal pain.

But Dean couldn't help the tiny glimmer of disappointment in him about the fact that Cas looked so annoyed, so downhearted. He didn't know why a little part of him expected Cas to be happy about being human, maybe be a little bit excited, a little bit interested, but he could see now that he was wrong. Like he'd said last night; this wasn't an honour, this was a punishment.

It was then that Dean decided he was going to make being human as good as he could make it for his friend. Sure, they still were in deep trouble; they were hunters, constantly on the run from powerful monsters or the law, they got injured on a daily basis, and all their friends were dead. But, damnit, he could still have fun. Cas had spent so much of himself trying to save the world, save humanity; it was about time he enjoyed it.

"You alright over there?" Dean asked. Cas didn't look at him.

"I'm fine." Was the reply, carefully pulling on the jacket over the shirt that Dean had lent him. They didn't fit, they were old and tatty and the jeans were only being held up by a belt that was on its tightest notch. They hadn't gotten round to changing Cas into his own clothes, figuring they might as well protect them from the blood and ink that might get on them on the journey back to the cabin. But he still looked swamped, a child running around in his parent's clothes.

"Come on." Dean said, standing up. "Let's get back."

* * *

_With thanks to my betas who knew more about tattoos than I do._

_Reviews welcomed with tears of joy._


	6. Chapter 6

Having paid and received the tattoo aftercare speech (and pamphlet) from Kirsty, they left, Cas walking stiffer than usual, a little straighter. Dean chuckled as he pulled out his phone, leaning against the car. Sam picked up after the third ring.

"Hey, Sammy." Dean smiled, turning away from Cas as he slumped against the car, stroking the smooth line of metal, missing the impala for the millionth time.

"Hey, how'd the tattoo go?" His brother asked.

"He's inked up and ready to go." Dean told him, glancing back over at the parlour. "Got him some new threads, too."

"Bet you loved that." Sam commented, and Dean could hear clunking in the background, the unmistakable sound of metal on metal.

"More your area of expertise, Samantha." He joked. "Where are you? Still in the library?"

"Grocery store. We're running low on supplies."

"Get pie." Dean reminded him. "Seriously. The last one I had was three months back and it was as stale as Bobby's old hat."

"I was thinking more along the lines of toilet paper and vegetables."

"Slow down there, little brother; I think you're playing things a bit hard and fast there."

"Shut up. I'm getting Cas a burner too."

"Good thinking. "Dean approved, glancing round, though found himself freezing when he found himself alone. Ducking down, he peered into the car window. No Cas there either.

"Dean?" Sam prompted, presumably having asked a question and received no response.

"Cas's gone." Dean told him, spinning on the spot as he looked up and down the spot, goosebumps prickling down his spine.

"What?"

"I took my eyes off him for two seconds!"

"What do you mean 'gone'?"

"I mean _gone_! Vanished!" He spat, trying to squash down the panic rising in his chest. "Cas!" He called, receiving no response aside from confused looks from the scant amount of pedestrians.

"But he can't teleport." Sam was saying. "He can't have just vanished."

But Dean had stopped listening to his brother, the logic that he was spouting having already occurred. More than that, Dean was distracted, the sudden noise of shouting filling his ears, attuned to listening out for signs of a commotion after listening for it his whole life. He turned towards the noise, sounds of yelling coming from the Christian bookshop across the street.

"Oh, crap." Dean muttered. "Call you back."

* * *

Cas stood stiffly, unable to slouch back against the car as Dean was, not with his back in this much pain. He sighed, turning his attention to the street as Dean pulled out his phone, hearing him greet Sam. As his gaze slid past the tattoo parlour and betting shops, the off license and the polish grocery store, he found himself struck by the Christian bookshop a few doors down. Pale and unassuming, with bibles lining the shop front, crucifixes and the simple fishes that the early Christians had used to signify their allegiance, Castiel felt the instant tug of the familiar.

He smiled, the pain in his back forgotten for a moment, and walked over, pushing open the door with ease, a soft tinkle from above him signifying his entrance and an elderly woman looked up from the till.

"Good afternoon." She greeted, and he nodded in response.

"Hello." He spoke softly, trailing a finger gently along the display of bibles, many with different covers. It was a far cry from how it had looked whilst it was being written down. For a moment, he was happy in amongst the serene nature of the shop, the peaceful reverence of Christian iconography.

His mood dropped as he noticed a shelf of leaflets. Amongst fliers for church weekends, fairs, information brochures and advice were 3 separate batches entitled "Why Being Gay Is A Sin"; "How To Help Cure Your Homosexual Child" and "So Your Friend Has Accepted Satan". He frowned, hand dropping as he stared at it, looking up to the woman at the desk. She smiled at him, though committed to her maintenance on the till.

Shaking his head, he continued on, frown deepening as he picked up a bible, flicking through at random. It had printed annotations, linking forward and back through the text, claiming verses meant something when linked with other parts of the word of God. An astonishing amount led back to Leviticus. Furthermore, many texts had been altered so far past basic translation that the real meaning of each passage was unrecognisable.

"What is this?" He asked the woman, and she looked up again.

"$16.50, dear." She told him, and after he understood what she had said, he shook his head.

"This edition."

"Oh, it's new!" She smiled, leaning over. "Isn't it good? It connects the bible together so we can better see what God wants."

"This? This is not what he wants."

She straightened up, suddenly on the defensive. "You believe you know what God wants? The editor of this edition studied religion at _Stanford_." She puffed herself up, standing a little taller, though still not reaching above his shoulders.

"Yes," he told her simply, snatching a pen from the desk. He opened a page at random, and a verse within it. "The word placement here is all wrong-" he started scribbling out words, replacing them overhead. "The translation here is awful. There is no way anyone remotely competent could have made the translation from 'adulterous' to 'homosexual'. Which, for the record, is not a sin."

The woman had gasped when he had begun defacing the book, and at his last words she rung the bell beneath the desk for assistance. Flipping the page, Cas surveyed the book.

"This whole passage was ruined in the dark ages." He muttered, ripping out the page completely and crumpling it in his fist, dropping it on the desk.

A man came out of the backroom at this point, and the cashier hastened to explain the situation to him.

"Sir?" He asked.

"It is an abomination that heaven has not kept a closer eye on that which is being published in God's name." Castiel said, taking a step back, bumping into the shelf, which fell to the floor behind him. The woman squawked in protest. This was the moment that Dean walked into the shop.

"Cas? What the hell are you doing?!" He cried, wincing as the clearly distressed woman behind the desk gasped at his language, watching as the brochures from the now horizontal shelf slid to the floor. Cas looked startled at his presence, standing there with a Bible in one hand, a pen in the other.

"Their Bible is wrong," was his explanation.

"Is he with you?" The man asked, and Dean blinked up at him.

"Yeah, sometimes." Dean muttered. "Cas, come on, get out of here."

"He'll have to pay for that Bible!" The woman yelped. "And the shelf!"

Dean looked at the shelf, very intact, lying on the floor. Sighing, he hefted it up, straightening it so that it was level with the shelves beside it, putting the leaflets back in order. "How much for the book?"

"$16.50." The man told him, and Dean sighed, reaching into his pocket for a twenty.

"Keep the change." He replied calmly.

"No refunds." The woman spat, the words heavy with sarcasm and snark, and Dean scowled at her, glancing at Castiel, now standing near the door, arms folded.

"Tell me about it." Dean replied, handing over the twenty. He turned, eyes catching the shelf, the leaflets that he had just straightened out but failed to pay proper attention to. Glancing back at Cas he saw the pointed, but completely silent glare, obviously seething.

"Do you mind if I grab some of these?"

"Go ahead." The woman sighed, ringing in the money, thinking to herself that at least there might have been some form of higher purpose to the visit.

"Great." Dean grabbed the three bundles of fliers, each that had offended Cas when he had first spotted them, each that Dean knew, even without his friend's expression, that it was all complete bullshit. He crumpled them into his hands, and threw a smile at the two employees, before exiting the shop with as, taking the leaflets with him, ignoring the protests back in the bookstore.

"Seriously, Cas?" Dean asked, strolling over to the closest trashcan, ripping the bundles for good measure before chucking them in. "Causing a scene in a goddamn Christian Bookstore?"

"Goddamn being very apt, Dean." Cas sighed.

"Throw that Bible away too, if it offends you so much."

Cas eyed the book warily, still clutching it in his arms, uncertain, and Dean shrugged, exasperated.

The Bible ended up coming back to the cabin with them. Sam had arrived several minutes later, worried and ready to attack in case this 'Cas Vanishing' thing turned out to be something bad. As it was, when Dean explained what had happened, he'd nearly doubled over laughing at it, and was happy to see that under the frustration, Dean clearly found it hilarious too, the twinkle in his eyes evident, and even allowed himself small smiles when he'd glance in the car mirror, seeing Cas in the back seat, still holding the Bible.

* * *

_Sorry about the long wait, this month has been a bit hectic. As usual, reviews are warmly received! A huge chunk of credit for this chapter goes to Cyberbutterfly, a constant help when brainstorming. _


	7. Chapter 7

"What do you _mean_ you didn't get pie?" Dean barked at Sam as he emptied the bag, scrambling to find the promised pastry. "It was literally the only thing I asked you to get!"

"Yeah, and then you said that Cas had disappeared! It fell off the list of priorities." Sam told him, plucking a tomato that Dean seemed to be on the verge of popping. Cas watched the two of them bicker as he carefully sat down, Bible still clutched in his grasp.

"But you stopped long enough to buy everything else."

"Everything I already had. It only took a minute."

"_It only took a minute._" Dean mimicked, pulling a face as he continued looking through the bags, ignoring as his younger brother tried to continue unpacking. "Sam?"

"What?"

"The hell is this?" He looked up, holding up the offending object. Sam rolled his shoulders before looking up, infuriated.

"Star Trek," he bit back, pulling the plastic bag across the table and away from Dean, who was now fully distracted by the DVD. "I thought you might wanna show Cas the rest of them." He glanced up at Cas with a small smile, amused at the slight confusion on his face.

"You had time to buy every single Star Trek film, but not my pie?"

"It was on sale." Sam shrugged.

"_It was on sale_." Dean repeated again, scoffing, as he flipped it over, tearing off the plastic. He glanced down the titles, his mouth twitching into a half smile when he saw that the set contained all eleven original films, though smothered it quickly. "Doesn't have the new one."

"What new one?" Sam sighed.

"You know, couple years back. It was flashy."

"Flashy?" Sam repeated. "Dean, you _hated_ that film."

"Did not," he gestured with the box, and Cas leaned forwards, trying to read it as it moved. He caught glimpses, a dark background with an arrow on the front. No, the insignia from the uniforms, Cas realised.

"Did too, and you know it."

"Well," he muttered. "It isn't the complete set without it."

Sam put down the tin of chicken-noodle soup that he was holding. "You specifically said that the film wasn't part of the story."

"I-" Dean began, clearly annoyed, glancing over to Cas. "You're confusing him."

Sam scoffed, looking up at Cas, who narrowed his eyes as he looked between the two brothers. "He's right; I am having difficulty following this discussion."

Both Winchesters looked at him for a few seconds, before Sam gave in, chuckling. "Quit whining and put on the movie."

* * *

Dean was, for some reason, sulking. Sam couldn't figure it out, but he knew it wasn't about the forgotten pie. By a long shot it could be the acknowledgement of Dean's inner nerd that he tried so hard to keep hidden, but Sam doubted it was that. His best guess was that it was due to the fact that somehow, deep down, Dean didn't quite know how to deal with being happy. Since it had quietened down, since Cas had returned and he's been forced to deal, since Cas had woken up human... Dean had what he's always wanted; a family.

Sam paused at the fridge as he put the groceries away, glancing over at Dean as he loaded the DVD. The requested beer had been neglected, still lying untouched on the shelf. He knew it was too soon to read anything by it, only barely a day had passed since they had been placed there, but by Dean's standards...

"Sam?" Dean called over, looking round as he saw Sam standing by the fridge. He hit the button on the remote and the opening credits began to roll the slow music rising. The younger Winchester froze, waiting on Dean's request; he wanted something, if the look on his face was anything to go by.

"What?"

"You got anything to eat? And not rabbit food, _movie_ food." Dean clarified, and Sam felt the smile creep back on to his face. He shoved the bananas in the fridge, hiding the beer behind them. Turning back to the bags on the table, he rummaged through until he found what he was looking for. When he'd spotted the movies, he'd doubled back specifically to get snacks. And while he himself couldn't stand what was inside the bag he picked up, he knew Dean loved it.

"Here." He said, throwing the bad over to his brother, who caught it effortlessly, eyes lighting up as he read the label.

"Liquorice?" He cried, laughing up at his brother in awe. "You actually got liquorice?"

"I was feeling benevolent," He shrugged. "It's no pie, but..."

"Yeah," Dean smiled, offering the bag to Cas. "It'll do."

"Damn right it'll do, weirdo." Sam muttered, watching as Cas popped one into his mouth, frowning at the flavour. He saw Dean's expression as he did so, unbridled amusement, sheer joy. He might be an alcoholic, the majority of his friends might be dead, they might be hiding out from who knows how many demon currently wanting their collective guts for garters, but right now, he was happy. And he was going to just have to deal with that.

* * *

Cas didn't understand the appeal of the film, to be quite honest. The characters seemed to have a back story that he was not privy to, and much of the movie was filled with very long sequences of the characters and their ship moving very slowly towards something or other with dramatic orchestral music playing over it. Dean seemed to enjoy it, though, watching enraptured through it all, chewing happily on the foul tasting, black pieces of candy, glancing occasionally to Cas. Occasionally he would obediently eat another piece of liquorice, certain that it had no nutritional benefits to it. He could see a small piece stuck in Dean's teeth, and resisted the urge to remove it himself. Dean would find it in his own time.

At some point, Sam sat down with them, scooting Dean along to accommodate his larger frame on the couch. He too seemed to enjoy the film, smiling and joking along with Dean about what was happening.

Cas, while he didn't fully understand the premise, or story, or characters, or the special effects, did find himself appreciating one element of the movie. Throughout he noticed that there was a strong sense of camaraderie, a concept of family that was inextricably tangled with a sense of duty on the ship. All the characters, through better or worse, would abide by the captains instructions, and he would see them through. They would be happy to follow, their implicit trust in the man stronger than their duty. He couldn't quite identify the appeal for a long while, but after some time, he believed he might be beginning to comprehend. Losing oneself in a fantastical story that mirrored concepts in one's own life... it was comforting and familiar, offering hope.

He glanced over at Dean, surprised to realise that he had spent at least ten minutes lost in the movie. Dean was staring at him, flushing slightly when he found he had been caught, and looked back at the screen. Cas smiled slightly, the gesture still new on his face, the muscle movement unfamiliar in his cheeks but natural all the same.

He spent much of the film glancing back at Dean, taking more pleasure in watching his friend watch the film than watching it himself. In one of the many times that he found himself staring, as the light from the screen danced across Dean's face, he came to another realisation about the film. In the same way that the film was reminiscent of certain aspects of their lives, so were the characters. He could have found similarities from all of the characters back to his friend sitting next to him, but he found himself drawn to the fair haired captain, the cocky arrogance and steadfast confidence, the implicit trust his family had in him.

He smiled again as Dean stared at the TV, stubbornly fixed on the screen. He too was about to look back, if it were not for Sam, slouching against the arm of the furniture, at ease to keep an eye on his two companions. He smirked, the skin of his eyes crinkling as he glanced between Dean and Cas.

Castiel felt the familiar sensation of confusion, the knowledge that he was not quite understanding all that was occurring. Sam knew more than him about something, and he was fairly sure it wasn't about the film. Perhaps one day he would learn to see what Sam was seeing. At a loss for all else to do, he looked back to the screen.

* * *

Dean knew that Cas hadn't quite understood the film. Or followed it. It was one of the weaker films, filled with long suspense sequences where little happened, but he became aware that as the movie went on, Cas began to allow himself to get a little lost in it. Just as he was beginning to write the franchise off for Cas, he caught his friend watching enraptured in the proceedings. Something there had caught his attention.

As the end credits began to roll, he looked over to Cas, suddenly realising how close he had allowed himself to get. Far too close. Snatching his hand back from his friend's knee, an appendage that he had placed there during the climax of the film, he felt himself blushing, resisting the urge to wipe his now clammy hand on his own jeans. He was suddenly hyper aware of his close proximity to Cas, and, somehow more disturbingly, Sam, he jumped up, heading for the TV.

"So?" Dean asked as he pushed the buttons, waiting for the disk to be spat out. "What'd you think?"

Cas looked up, eyes a little bleary from having been focused on the screen for the past two hours, unsure of what to do with the unfocused ache in them.

"It was..." He mused. "Fascinating."

Dean smirked, replaying the film in his head, wondering if CaS was aware that he had just quoted Spock.

* * *

It had been roughly half an hour since the film had finished. Dean was currently on the phone to Garth, Cas was standing at the window, DVD case in hand as he read the back, fidgeting slightly. Sam looked over as he pulled old equipment from the drawers and cupboards, rinsing them thoroughly.

"Hey, Cas?" Sam called over. Cas looked up, slight confusion on his face, still not understanding the film, even with the help of the blurb. "You wanna help make dinner?"

Cas put down the box on the table, walking over into the kitchen, the frown of confusion still prominent. He could see that Sam already had a pot on the stove, with some oil beginning to heat up. "I don't know how much help I'd be," he explained. "I've never prepared food before."

"Ah, it's easy," Sam shrugged, rolling a couple of carrots over with a knife. "We're just making pasta."

The frown deepened. "You consider pasta to be easy to make?" Castiel had witnessed a lot of minor events over years, and whilst he had been stationed in Italy for a few centuries, he had, on occasion, seen the production of the food product. It had looked far from simple.

Sam smiled, shaking his head at his friend. "Yeah, pretty easy." He chuckled, pulling the packet of dried pasta from the cupboard. Cas nodded, understanding, before looking down at the carrots in front of him. "Start chopping." Sam prompted. He opened the fridge briefly, taking out a packet of mince and pouring it into the pot. The smell of frying meat quickly filled the area. Sam placed an onion in front of himself, chopping it deftly through the middle.

Cas was careful, slightly wary with the sharp knife in his hands, the knowledge that if he were to injure himself he wouldn't be able to heal himself instantly the way that he used to. He could feel Sam's eyes on him, that amusement was being found at his expense, but he found he preferred the idea of making Sam smile than of being injured.

"The modern version of pasta is very different from the original." He informed Sam, moving onto the second carrot.

"Oh yeah?" Sam squinted down at him.

"It used to be a doughy substance, quite unrecognisable from that product in the bag." He remembered.

"What happened?"

"The recipe was improved upon." He looked up at Sam, seeing his face was screwed up and squinting, eyes red and puffy. "Sam?"

"Yeah, it's the onions." He chuckled, gesturing down at it with the knife. "Makes you cry."

"Oh." Cas paused, looking down at the offending object, beginning to feel the bite of it in his eyes as well. "It's the acid seeking moisture." He explained. "If you were to put a bowl of water down next to it, you should be fine."

"Yeah?" Sam squinted, rubbing his eyes with the back of his hand. "Learn something new every day." He put the knife down, rinsing his hands quickly in the sink and grabbing a bowl, doing as Cas said. He splashed his face for good measure, the cold water soothing, before going back to the onion, carefully chopping the rest and scraping it into the pot on the stove. "Here, stir this." He told Cas, handing him a spoon and taking the carrots away.

Dean was still on the phone behind them, though now looked more relaxed as Cas turned to look. He was leant back in his chair, clicking the pen in his hand up and down, writing nothing. Seeing Cas watching, he winked, before quickly turning away, listening to Garth. Turning back to the onions and meat in front of him, he dutifully stirred, watching as Sam chopped the carrots far more efficiently than he had. He frowned, looking away as he began to feel the uncomfortable notion of inadequacy rising, focusing instead on making sure the food didn't burn.

"So how you feeling, Cas?" Sam asked, starting on a third carrot.

"The onions aren't affecting me." He replied, peering into the pot. Surprisingly, he found the smell of the meat frying delicious, even if the sight in front of him did remind him vaguely of the substance he ate when touched by famine's influence.

Sam smiled. "No, I meant-"

They were interrupted by Dean's abrupt presence, breaking between the two of them, frowning as Sam poured the carrots in the mix. "What's cooking?"

"Pasta." Sam told him.

"Actually, the sauce. The pasta is premade." Cas corrected, earning a chuckle from Dean.

"Yeah, tends to do that. Easy on the veggies, Sam, 'kay?"

"Yeah, right." Sam turned around, grabbing a zucchini. "You can eat like a pig all you want, I'm teaching Cas to eat so that he won't have a heart attack when he's fifty."

"I know how to eat." Cas interjected, and Sam spun around to him, face apologetic.

"Sorry, of course you know how to eat." Clearly concerned he'd said something wrong, he ground his teeth and began to chop up the vegetable. "Dean, what did Garth say?"

"Nothing going." He shrugged, grimacing at the green vegetable. "Only hunt in the area was the vamp nest. Either we drive a couple hundred miles and snatch one from another guy already on it, or-"

"Or we take a holiday." Sam finished.

"Pretty much. He's got a well oiled operation running, I'll give him that." Dean plucked the spoon from Cas's grip, stirring it himself, grimacing as Sam poured in the zucchini. "You're gonna ruin the flavour, you can't taste the meat over all that crap."

"When you cook, you can put what you want in it." Sam snapped.

Dean glanced to Cas, who was watching Dean's movements with the spoon carefully, studying how he moved the ingredients in the pot. Dean smiled, giving the spoon back. "Don't get your panties in a twist, Sammy." Dean mocked, patting Cas on the back, immediately stopping when he caught his friends wince. "Damn, I'm sorry." He said, hand hovering a few inches away.

"It's fine, Dean." Cas replied, the sharp sting dying down, leaving a dull ache.

"How's that doing, anyway?" He asked.

"It's not a problem." Cas replied, stirring the food a little harder than he had before.

"Yeah, sure; 'cos having a tattoo is a walk in the park." Dean sighed, stepping back and leaning on the counter. "We'll get that bandage off later, okay?"

* * *

Cas turned out to be pleasantly surprised by how simple the meal actually was, and allowed himself a small ounce of pride at the look of pleasure on Dean's face when he first bit into it. He was under no illusions that Sam had done the lion's share of the work, but somehow that didn't matter. He had partially contributed to that smile.

Sam laughed, catching Cas's attention, who was somewhat surprised to see Sam looking at him, shaking his head with a smile of his own. Struck again by the knowledge that Sam saw something he didn't, he opted to instead eat a forkfull of the pasta rather than query it.

* * *

_Okay, so I've been gone a while. A dodgy mixture of writers block and being busy and mostly to blame for that, I'm sorry! General reminder that if I haven't updated in a while, a message or review telling me to get my ass back into gear generally does the trick._

_On a different note: I've been contemplating changing my username on this site so that it matches my Tumblr URL and my Ao3. How would people feel if I were to switch from crazyjessie05 to **thesmileofawinchester**?  
_

_As usual, reviews and messages are always appreciated. _


	8. Chapter 8

Dinner eaten, and dirty dishes stacked neatly by the sink in a manner that was uncharacteristically tidy for the Winchester household, Dean moved to the next item on his to-do list.

"Come on, Cas; time to get that bandage off." He reminded him, whipping a towel at his hips to get his attention. "It ain't gonna heal till you get that off."

"I remember, Dean; I was there." Cas replied, moving away from the sink, putting down the damp sponge. He grabbed the towel from Dean, wiping the suds from his fingers as Dean grinned.

"Good to see you were paying attention." Raising his eyebrows at Sam sat at the table, laptop open watching the two. "Come on, get a hustle on."

Cas shook his head, beginning to move to the bathroom. "Hustle is a verb, Dean; you can't 'get it on'."

"Speak for yourself." He chuckled, to which Sam laughed a little too loudly in response. Dean turned, a little confused, unused to Sam laughing so much to a crude joke. Mind you, those jokes were usually at Sam's expense; perhaps he found them more entertaining when he was not on the receiving end.

Cas, having grown used to jokes being made that flew over his head, didn't pay much heed, though suspected Sam's reaction was more due to his interpretation, rather than Dean's initial statement. Dean's own confusion didn't last long, scowling at Sam, shutting the door behind him in protest, belatedly realising he had probably just made the matter worse. He sighed, dropping his chin to his chest, before turning around, almost jamming the doorknob into his back in surprise.

"Jeez, Cas; give a guy some warning!"

Cas frowned, confused. He had already unbuttoned the shirt that he had borrowed from Dean, and had begun to shrug it from his shoulders when Dean had cried out. He couldn't understand Dean's sudden reaction over this, mentally replaying Dean's various rules concerning personal space and nudity, now confused as to the point of the both of them being in the room. Besides, he had been semi naked twice in Dean's presence in the last two days, with less reaction that this. He paused, unsure how to continue.

Dean himself was replaying the same logic in his head that Cas was. Mentally slapping himself out of it, he straightened up. "Sorry, Man. Carry on."

Cas narrowed his eyes, but continued taking the sleeves from his arms, handing the shirt to Dean, who threw it on the towel rail. It slipped to the floor, and Cas eyed it cautiously, but Dean made no move to pick it up, so on the dirty floor it remained.

"So how's it feeling?" Dean asked, motioning with his finger for Cas to spin around and face the sink, like the night before.

"It's fine." Cas replied, tensing in anticipation of the pressure of Dean's hands. He twitched slightly at the first light touch, gone after a split second, but back again just as quickly, the hint of nail at the edge of the tape holding the bandage on. The removal was slightly painful, the tug of skin as it resisted separation from the tape, the scrape of nail, but after a few second he began to relax into it, the sensation changing from an unpleasant tugging to a soothing tickle, the scrape itching and satisfying all at once. It was, however, short lived, almost as soon as Cas had gotten used to it, Dean grasped the end and tugged hard, pulling off the entire strip in one go.

Cas felt a grunt of pain punched out of his lungs, and he turned to glare at Dean.

"Don't be such a baby." The man muttered. "Take it off like a bandaid. Just three more." He warned, tugging on the next, a horizontal line this time, and while Cas expected it, he still hissed slightly. Pain was still so new; real, physical pain that burned the flesh now permanently fixed to him, no grace to cushion, no instant heal. By the fourth line he showed almost no reaction, determined.

"Atta boy." Dean grinned, peeling off the film, cautious as he saw it gently sticking to the raw skin, vaguely remembering the sting of it all those years ago. Dean was being far less gentle than he had been on himself, but then, that was him. Dean couldn't say it but he knew he had to go easy on his friend.

"Okay, it ain't looking too bad." Dean scrunched the bandage up, throwing it in the rusty bin. "Just needed to freshen it up a little."

"Thank you, for your help." Cas replied. "Though I'm sure I could have done it myself."

"Maybe if you'd've put it in a sensible place like me." Dean told him. "I'd like to see you reaching back there to fix it up."

Cas nodded, but said nothing. Dean nudged him aside, grabbing Sam's washcloth from the shower and ran it under the warm water now running in the sink. Squeezing most of the water out, he brought it up to Cas's back, beginning to gently mop the tattoo. Cas tensed, the rough texture painful, but he again relaxed into it, the gentle sensation soothing.

"So. Starting a riot in a Christian bookshop?"

"It was hardly a riot, Dean." Cas huffed, watching him in the mirror.

"Oh yeah?"

"They were selling hatred in the name of God. Jesus himself overturned tables in a temple for similar blasphemies."

"And you knocked over shelves in a bookshop."

"It was an accident."

"Sure, sure." He chuckled. "Hold still," he reminded, nudging his friend on the shoulder. He went back to carefully dabbing away the dried ink and blood, a little too pink for his liking. That's what he gets for giving the guy whiskey beforehand, he supposed. "So, what they were saying-" Dean cut off, stopping the sentence. He caught Cas's eye in the mirror, quickly looking back down. He suddenly, stupidly felt uncomfortable.

"Dean?"

"Nah, it's nothing." Dean shrugged, carelessly pressing a little too hard, feeling Cas shudder slightly. He patted Cass waist in silent apology, noticing the flinch again. That time it almost seemed like Cas was... ticklish... huh.

Dean grinned, looking up and catching Cas's expression in the mirror: surprise, confusion, and a little bit indignant. Dean grinned.

"Being gay." He started up again, the words exiting his mouth unbidden, the embarrassment he had felt appeased somewhat. "Thought the bible cared about that one."

"At the time, a little." Cas explained. "Leviticus was written more as a guideline for the society. Rules and laws that made sense at the time, but don't any more. Homosexuality tied in with 'go forth and multiply', but with overpopulation as it is, it's no longer an issue." He looked up at Dean. "As you are neither Jewish nor born three and a half thousand years ago, you don't need to worry about it."

Dean raised his eyebrows. "No worrying over here. Not an issue."

"Okay"

"I might be giving you a sponge bath right now, but it's not anything I was worrying about." He caught Cas's confused eyes in the mirror. "Was just curious. About why you were so angry about it." Dean clamped his mouth shut, aware he was babbling. He looked away, attempting to focus again on the tattoo, pressing bit too hard with the rough cloth, not saying anything about Cas's small flinch.

He reached around and rinsed it out. The cloth was beginning to stain, grey streaks not rinsing out from the brown material. Dean shrugged, bringing it back up to Cas's back.

Sam could probably hear all they were discussing, the halls in this cabin were so damn thin. He shouldn't feel self conscious at the thought of Sam being able to hear a perfectly innocent conversation, but just the idea of Sam listening in... the sooner he got out of here, the better.

The flesh under Dean's fingertips shuddered, and Dean looked up. Cas's eyes were shut, head tilted slightly upward, back bowed from Dean as a drip of water trickled down his back, right down the centre of his spine. Dean watched as it trailed down, past his waist, where Dean suspected more and more that he was ticklish, down to where skin met fabric.

Dean, brain suddenly too foggy to think, dragged his hand down to catch it, thumb stopping the waters journey. He dragged it across, rubbing the drop into the skin, the skin underneath soft and pliant, a hint of bone underneath. He looked up, seeing Cas's eyes on him once again, heavy lidded and a little too dark.

Dean stepped back, fisting the washcloth in his hand, clearing his throat. "Yeah, you're fine. Clean as a whistle." He spluttered, his foot catching his shirt on the floor. "You can put your clothes on."

Cas turned around, and Dean found himself face to face once again, with his topless friend, the soft shine of water on his shoulders still. His mouth was slightly parted, and Dean couldn't help his eyes tracking down to them, brain offering up memories from how they had felt under his, the dry grate tickling slightly. He swallowed, suddenly uncomfortable, a sensation only magnified by the way his pants were now feeling a little too tight.

"Dean-"

He grabbed the doorknob that was sticking into his hip, twisted it and shimmied himself around the door, practically falling back through the open space. "You, uh, have a good shower." He stammered, shutting the door, putting a nice big wall between him and Cas.

He span around remembering his younger brother, who was still sat at the table, laptop open, fingers poised on the keys. His eyebrows were raised and he eyed Dean with surprise, and no small amount of suspicion.

"You okay there?" He asked, unmoving.

"Fine." Dean barked.

"Sure about that?"

Dean huffed, crossing the room and walking towards the front door. It was dark outside, the light from the cabin filtering through the cold February evening with nothing more to help it than the moonlight and stars above. As an afterthought, Dean grabbed his jacket, shrugged it on, and kicked the door closed behind him. He knew the cabin was going to start getting to him. With a grand total of three rooms, there wasn't many options when he inevitably wanted to get away from everyone.

He was itching to hunt. Something was running through his system right now, and he wanted nothing more than to grab a really big knife and chop off a vamp's head, slice into some nasty son of a bitch's gut and see the life drain away with the blood. But that, according to Garth, wasn't an option right now.

Don't think Dean didn't see through that. Sam had undoubtedly told the scrawny guy all about their situation with Cas, about Dean. How Dean needed time off, how Cas needed time to learn. He could picture Garth scrambling to cover every possible hunt in a thousand mile radius so that they couldn't.

Garth was good. But Dean was stuck.

He walked over to the car and popped open the rusty trunk, quickly retrieving Bobby's flask from another Jacket buried in there. He took a swig, making a mental note to refill it soon, before turning around, leaning so that he was sitting in the trunk. Ignoring the cold, he looked up at the stars, watching how his breath rose, white puffs against the black.

His fingers, as they were wont to do recently, began to trace the patterns in the flask, long familiar after weeks of carrying it. He felt the familiar sting of tears in his eyes, and took another sip of whiskey, draining the dregs.

Rufus's place may have been safe, may be salt lined and remote but it sure as hell wasn't safe enough. They had a couple of weeks, at most, before they needed to move. He could see himself getting cabin fever before then.

He looked back to the cabin, seeing Sam and Cas talking at the table, and he softened a bit, letting himself sink, the warm burn of the whiskey soothing. At least, he thought, in an uncharacteristically sentimental manner, that if he was stuck here for the time being, he had good company to go stir crazy with.

* * *

_I'm going on holiday for two weeks this weekend, and I doubt I'm going to be able to stable internet in the soggy depths of Wales. I'll try and update when I can, but seeing as how sporadicly I've been posting recently anyway, it shant be much out of the ordinary. As usual, reviews are warmly welcomed. _


	9. Chapter 9

Dean had fled the bathroom in a hurry, leaving Cas confused, and slightly damp. The whole time they had been in there, Dean had seemed uneasy, a reaction that had been perplexing to Cas, as Dean had voluntarily initiated the scene.

Cas picked up the shirt that lay on the floor and placed it back on the towel rack, making sure it stayed this time. He shivered, feeling another line of water begin its way down is back, and he grabbed the towel, reaching around to dry it off. He had a little difficulty reaching back there, much as Dean had said he would.

He sighed, placing it back, alongside the shirt.

Dean's mannerism's often didn't make sense to Cas. He would laugh at things that he couldn't see any amusement in, and would get angry at things that were inoffensive. This time, he could barely pick out and emotion.

At least, it seemed, he now had time to learn.

He frowned, beginning to notice something that had been left ignored until now, something that, with all of the other sensations that were new in this body, had not been forefront in his attention. Now he looked down, glaring at his crotch as he realised that blood had travelled there, causing it to swell without his bidding. He remembered he'd had one before, and at that point he'd simply willed it away, not an option now. He tilted his head, unsure how to proceed. He knew the mechanics, knew the biology, but faced with an erection, he was unsure what to do, or if he wanted to.

Shaking his head, he unzipped his pants and pulled them off, suppressing a groan at the pressure against his engorged flesh, and the freedom once the material was removed. He pulled off his underwear too, and watched with mild curiosity as the offending appendage bounced slightly, the air cool around it.

In the end, he chose to proceed as Dean had instructed him to: he took a shower. By the time he stepped out once again into the cool air, the problem had disappeared on its own.

* * *

Sam looked up as Cas exited the bathroom, a full ten minutes after Dean. He had taken a shower, and his hair was still dripping. He had a towel around his waist again, but it was larger this time, after he had switched them that morning.

"Hello, Sam." Cas greeted, walking over to the TV where the bags of his new clothes had been left.

"Hey." The response was cautious, but Cas didn't look up, pulling the items out, endeavouring to find something to wear. "The tattoo looks good." Sam said, leaning to check it out. It looked identical to his and Dean's, and all of the traps they'd left in places over the years. "Should work fine."

"Dean thought so too." Cas agreed, tugging out plaid shirt, unsure what to choose.

"Did you get pyjamas?" Sam asked, smirking as he saw the familiar patterns emerge.

"I don't believe so, but neither you nor Dean wear them."

"No, but you need something to sleep in." Sam shrugged. "Doubt Dean will want to bunk with you if you're sleeping naked." Sam smirked, and Cas glanced up. There was that smile again.

"What do you suggest?"

"T-shirt, sweatpants." He smiled at the grey shirt that Cas had just pulled out, noticing the embroidery. He stood up and walked over, beginning to sift through, curious as to what they'd bought. "Same as you wore last night."

"They're Dean's." He pointed out. "And dirty."

"True." Sam shrugged.

Cas picked up a pair of jeans, having seen Dean and Sam sleep in them on multiple occasions, but Sam gently tugged them from his hands. "Nah, you don't wanna sleep in jeans."

"You and Dean often do."

Sam raised an eyebrow. "Only when we're too tired to bother with getting changed. Or if we know we're going to move as soon as we wake up. Denim is too tough, you need something comfortable to sleep in. Here." He pulled out the sweatpants buried at the bottom, and the soft green jumper.

"Thank you." Cas took them both, folding them over his arm. Sam frowned, pawing through. "Did you get any underwear.

Cas tilted his head, looking down. "I don't believe so."

"Wow." Sam huffed. "Dean really didn't know what he was doing did he?"

"He did suggest you should have been the one to cover that task."

"Yeah, of course he did." Sam chuckled, stepping back. He watched as Cas played with the drawstring on the sweatpants. "So, how're you feeling?"

Cas looked around, taken aback by the question. "Tired." He answered simply. Sam raised his eyebrows, looking at the time.

"It's only nine." He told him, and Cas looked apologetic.

"I'm still getting used to this body." He explained. "Jimmy used to go to bed around this time."

"Oh yeah? You're stuck with Jimmy muscle memory then?"

Cas nodded, yawning, then looking mildly offended at the involuntary action. Sam frowned, remembering the man that Cas was inhabiting. The father, the husband.

"What happened to Jimmy?" Sam asked, and Cas looked up in surprise. "I mean, is he still in there? Is he gone?"

"He's been gone for some time." Cas explained. "Do you recall the time that I carved these sigils into my chest?"

Sam nodded. "Yeah. You lost your powers."

"I was found brain dead on a barge. He died then, and has since been in a paradise of his own creation." Sam thought Cas sounded a bit sore about it, perhaps even jealous of Jimmy, but his friend's expression smoothed over, and he carried on looking through the clothes.

"Huh." Sam sighed, sitting back down at the table.

"I'm going to bed now." Cas said simply, picking up the rest of his bags, and Sam nodded again.

"Okay. Night."

Cas climbed the stairs, limbs tired and aching from the new effort that he had to put into every movement. The bed was a welcome sight, but before he allowed himself to flop into it, he disrobed and pulled on his sweatpants, pulling the drawstrings tight so the clothing stayed on his hips. Next he pulled on the sweater, though winced at the feel of the soft wool on his raw skin. Each movement grated, like sandpaper, and he gingerly got into bed.

While he initially had been tired, he found himself unable to sleep, even after he had turned out the lamp beside his bed. While the night before sleeping on his back had been adequate, he found that position very uncomfortable, not least because of the pain. He tried his side, the other, and his front, before he sat up, pulling off the sweater. It certainly wasn't helping.

* * *

Dean came back inside after about half an hour, the cold finally getting to him.

"Man, the stars out here, Sam." He grinned, determined on pushing away whatever the hell it was he'd been feeling before. "No light pollution. It's like that thing I took you to when you were little. Where they put the stars on the ceiling and some old guy tells you about the constellations."

"A planetarium?"

"That's the one."

"You spent the entire time making out with Tracey Danner." Sam reminded him, scowling at the memory.

"Did I?" Dean asked, smiling. "Sounds like me. Blonde?"

"Ginger."

"Yeah, okay." Dean smiled, taking off his jacked and settling on the sofa. He looked around, noticing they were one short.

"He's gone to bed." Sam informed him before he had a chance to ask.

"It's only half nine." Dean protested, and Sam shrugged.

"He was tired. He's still on 'Jimmy' time."

"Oh." Dean frowned, thinking it through, pulling a face at the memory of the vessel. "Man, that's weird."

"Makes sense." Sam told him, and his brother shrugged, settling down on the sofa. He leaned back, looking at the blank TV screen in front of him, then at the ceiling. He started making noises with his mouth, squeaking and squelching, and obviously annoying. Sam put up with it for a few minutes until he abruptly lowered his laptop screen. "What?"

"I'm bored." Dean announced, and Sam rolled his eyes. "There's nothing to do here."

"I think it's meant to be relaxing." Sam told him, and Dean huffed. "See what else Rufus had lying around. There's some books in the cabinet over there."

Dean craned his neck back, looking at the cabinet, as if by willpower alone he could get it to open for him. When it didn't, he got to his feet and walked over, swinging the door open. It creaked loudly and banged against the wall, and Sam glared at him.

Dean frowned, looking at the selection in thought. He eventually pulled out _Paradise Lost_, and Sam raised his eyebrows.

"Bobby talked about this one, right?" Dean asked, and Sam considered it.

"Yeah. It's Milton." He nodded, before turning back to his computer. Dean shrugged again, closing the cabinet and going back to the sofa.

After an hour, Dean had fallen asleep on the sofa. Sam was thankful, as Dean had persisted in interrupting him to ask what the hell a sentence meant, though seemed to enjoy it, whilst complaining about the form it was written in. After a while, Sam looked at the clock, figuring it was time for bed. He walked over to Dean, kicking his legs down from where they'd been resting on the coffee table in front of him.

"Whaddya do that for?" He slurred, his voice sleep heavy as he wiped his eyes, glaring up at Sam.

"You said you'd sleep with Cas tonight." He reminded him, and Dean blinked, before glaring.

"Sleep in the same room." He corrected, yawning.

"Same difference. Plus, you're in _my_ bed."

"Yeah, yeah." He heaved himself to his feet, clapping a hand on Sammy's shoulder as he walked past him, heading for the bathroom. Dean somehow managed to turn this simple two minute task into ten minutes, dawdling in the bathroom for far too long. He stayed until Sam pounded on the door in a manner somewhat reminiscent to how the behaved when they were teenagers, and he spat out the paste, reluctantly climbing the stairs.

He'd expected Cas to be asleep. Lights out, curtains drawn, the whole nine yards. Instead, when Dean opened the door, he was surprised to find the light still on, Cas sitting up in bed, a book and pen in his hands.

"Didn't you go to bed like, two hours ago?" Dean asked, blinking at the man, only noticing as the book was lowered that Cas seemed to be naked, or at least, from the waist up.

"I couldn't sleep." He answered simply.

"Coulda come back downstairs." Dean suggested, moving over to the chair. He unbuckled his belt, regretting not thinking this part through a little more as he toed off his shoes.

"It was unnecessary." Castiel shrugged. "I was content up here."

"Sure you were." Dean glanced back as Cas watched him, and he turned a little so he was facing the wall, so that Cas wouldn't catch an eyeful. He was wearing boxers, sure, but they were a little snug around the front. It was a fact he was usually proud of, but tonight, with his friend who had no boundaries, and who kept giving 'little-Dean' feelings he didn't want to think about, was currently topless in front of him, and Dean was practically giving him a strip-tease. "How come you're sleeping commando?"

"Commando?" Cas repeated, frowning.

"You're not wearing anything." Dean slid the trousers down, now turned so that he was almost facing directly away.

"I had intended to, but the fabric irritated my skin." He explained. "I'm wearing sweatpants, if that makes you feel any better."

"Oh, a ton." Dean sighed, throwing his pants to the side and picking up the blanket so that he lie down on the chair, covering himself over quickly. Cas was still watching. "What you reading?"

"The Bible."

"Oh. The one from the shop?" He frowned, and Cas closed it, looking at it.

"Yes." He said with distaste.

"Told you to throw that thing away." He grumbled, wriggling around to get comfortable. "You gonna turn out the light?"

Cas obliged, and Dean could hear rustling for a moment as Cas settled down, and then silence. Dean frowned, the oddity of the situation hitting him, and he opened his mouth, though was unsure what to say.

"What?" Cas asked, breaking the silence, and Dean frowned.

"What, what?"

"You were going to say something." Castiel told him, and Dean raised his eyebrows in surprise.

"I, uh." Dean stumbled, unsure. What had he been going to say. "What's the best Bible?"

"The _best_?"

"You know, most accurate."

He could hear Cas hum in thought for a second, the room was so quiet, in spite of their breathing, Sam rattling around downstairs, and the owl outside. "Probably the tablets that Moses brought down from Mount Sinai, though the New International Version is an excellent translation."

"Right."

"Was that all?" Cas asked, and Dean made a decision. Yes, that was all.

"Go to sleep, Cas."

* * *

_And I'm back! I actually managed to get a lot of writing done while on holiday, but unfortunately, not so much for this. I actually spent my main focus on a new fic that I'm going to put up hopefully soon, a Destiel AU. _

_I hope you haven't all forgotten about this fic in all of the long absences. As usual, reviews, comments, messages are more than welcome. _


	10. Chapter 10

_He was there again. High in the sky, amongst the clouds, the soft white gas below his feet pleasant to the touch. Wholly inaccurate, of course. It didn't look like that there, unless someone wanted it to. And there was no way the damp gas would be able to hold up his weight._

_His step faltered, and he looked around, eyes as blue as the sky he knew to be around him, somewhere. _

_He was looking for something. Someone. They weren't far, he knew it, perhaps even in arms reach, if only he could see through the cloud. It was so thick, and with each step he sunk a little lower. It wouldn't be long now._

_He opened his mouth to yell, but no sound came out. If he didn't find them soon, he'd drop, he knew it. As the realisation dawned, his foot sunk another step, and he felt the cool air on his toes, out of the cloud. He was almost there. _

_"De-" He managed to spit out, the word choking in his throat. His foot plunged through, and his limb was dangling, from his knee down. He thrashed, and it only served to loosen his purchase, his other leg falling into the void._

_He opened his mouth to yell again, but the words were snatched from his mouth as he suddenly dropped, falling out of the cloud. Everything was suddenly bright, so bright, so blue, he was free-falling and he didn't have anything to catch him, to slow the fall. He clawed up, trying to reach for the cloud that gravity was pulling him from but it kept getting further and further away, and he knew he was getting closer and closer to the ground, it was only a matter of seconds before-_

"CAS!" Came the yell, and he was suddenly awake, scrambling in the covers, breath coming hard and fast, sweat sticky on his back. His heartbeat too quick as he tried to focus his vision, still half lost in the blue sky and the white clouds. His vision started to darken, the sky quickly fading as he adjusted to what was actually there. Dean Winchester, a hand around his ankle like it was the first part of Cas he'd grabbed for.

"Cas?" Dean repeated, looking him straight in the eyes, seeing his friend focus. "You okay there?"

Okay? Not exactly. His heart was still beating a mile a minute, he was still panting, and the concern in Dean's eyes wasn't making him feel any better. Oddly, the warm weight of his hand around his ankle was.

"I, uh..." He breathed, looking at his friend, leaning forward, letting his weight fall on his right hand on the bed. "I believe so."

"Nightmares again?"

Dean's pupils were blown wide in the dark, a sight that was very attractive on the man. Cas frowned at the thought, remembering basic human biology; a human's pupils dilate when aroused, similar as to how they dilate in dark lights. His own probably looked the same. There was nothing to it.

"Yes." He said simply, glancing down at Dean. His modesty from earlier forgotten, he was half perched on the bed, a long leg stretched off, toes resting on the floor. He dragged his eyes back up, breathing slowing down as he looked at his friend. "I'm sorry for waking you." His voice was lower than usual, husky from sleep, from yelling in his nightmare, and Dean shook his head.

"'S nothing." He told him, shrugging. "It's what I was up here for."

Cas nodded, remembering. He hoped this wouldn't happen every night, but, he considered, this part wasn't so bad. Dean's comfort, his quiet presence, the warm pressure of Dean's hand. This, he didn't mind so much.

"Should we..." He began, eyes looking back to Dean, and, he noticed, Dean's eyes flitting back to his own a split second later. "Should we go back to sleep?"

Dean blinked, taking his hand away, leaning back quickly, as if he had realised something. The air around them seemed to have changed imperceptibly, slightly cooler, and Cas frowned.

"Yeah, you're right." Dean agreed, standing up and walking back to his chair, picking up the blanket. "You're sure you're feeling better now?"

"Quite sure." Cas agreed, as he was. The anxiety following the dream had passed, soothed away far quicker than the following night, though it had been replaced with something else, some heat in the pit of his stomach he couldn't quite place.

"Good." Dean said. "We got a few more hours of sleep left." He reminded him, and Cas heard the distinct sound of sheets moving as Dean settled down. Within minutes, Cas had fallen back asleep, but Dean stayed awake for a long time after.

* * *

Cas woke. Once again, his breath was short, he woke with his throat sore and his heart pounding. This time, however, as he sat up in his bed when only seconds before he had been inches from a rapidly approaching ground, he woke alone.

As he got his breath back, hands clawing at the sheets, he looked up, seeing Dean still asleep on the recliner in front of him. He hadn't woken up. His leg was sticking out from under the sheet, golden tanned and lightly haired. The sunlight from the window was just reaching his toes. Cas sighed, getting out of bed. He wasn't going back to bed, to sleep now. The clock ticked over half eight.

The light was creeping across the room and he watched the slow crawl of light for a few seconds. It had, by now, enveloped Dean's big toe, the one that had been broken in a fight when he was fourteen. It was crooked now, slightly. Over the millennia, humans had evolved to find sleeping in sunlight difficult, and it would surely wake Dean if it reached his face. Cas walked over to the window and closed the curtain, before padding downstairs, shutting the door behind him.

Sam wasn't in. Cas looked around in confusion for a moment, before walking to the kitchen. He could feel the winter chill beginning to bite into his flesh, but judging by the way the skin on his back was starting to itch, he decided he would deal better with the cold. Apparently the pain of initially applying the ink was not bad enough.

He went to the kitchen. It was time for breakfast. Humans needed to eat first thing in the morning. Ideally, something healthy, something incorporating all the food groups. He began to look in the cupboards, seeing what was available.

Bread. This was a good start. He placed a slice on a plate, and kept looking. In the cupboard was a banana, which he also put on the plate. Moving to the fridge, he poured himself a glass of milk, placing that on the table beside the rest of his meal. Finally, he spotted a pack of bacon. Perfect. After a minute of struggling with the plastic packaging, finding the plastic tab offered for the purpose completely ineffective, he found a knife in the drawer and sliced open the package. He took two slices of bacon out and put them in a frying pan, turning the heat on beneath them. Perfect.

Within minutes, it wasn't so perfect. The bacon had began to smoke, and when he tried to turn it over with a plastic spatula, it stuck to the bottom of the pan, tearing it apart. He scraped at it, peeling it away, flinching with a drop of fat spat at him, burning his skin.

After a few minutes of this, heart racing and stress levels rising, he heard footsteps behind him, and he span around, spatula in hand, ready to defend himself against the intruder. He instead came face to face with Sam, who instantly raised his hands, the universally accepted gesture of _please don't attack me with that spatula_. Cas sighed as Sam raised his eyebrows at the blackened, smoking mess in the pan.

"Making breakfast?" Sam guessed, and Cas rolled his eyes, a gesture he'd acquired from Dean.

"Unsuccessfully." He told him, stepping away as Sam took it off the heat. "I watched Neanderthals fry meat. They didn't make it seem so difficult."

"There's a knack to it." Sam told him, wincing as he scraped the meat into the trash. "Is that the rest of it?"

"I was attempting to make a balanced meal." He explained.

Under Sam's instructions, like the night before, he retrieved the packet of bacon, pouring some oil into the pan.

"Where were you?" Cas asked, glancing up as he carefully place the meat in the hissing pan. "I came downstairs and you weren't here."

"I go for a jog first thing." Sam told him, gesturing with his hand to the pan. "Keep the bacon moving so it doesn't stick."

"You run?" Cas repeated, nodding.

"Yeah. You need to stay in good shape, our line of work." Sam chuckled.

"But Dean doesn't?" Cas asked.

"Dean's the one who breaks a sweat when we're running from something." Sam told him, pulling a face at Cas's plate and taking out a second slice of bread.

Within ten minutes Cas was sat down with a cup of coffee, a bacon sandwich, and a banana. Apparently, Cas's cooking skills needed a bit of work, but Sam was polite and patient. Cas decided then and there that cooking was a skill he was definitely going to have to improve.

* * *

Dean woke neck slightly sore from the awkward angle he had eventually found rest in, and sat up, groaning. He opened his eyes, shielding them slightly from the light, and looked around the room. He was alone. Frowning in confusion, he blinked, and then groaned as last night began to filter through the sleepy haze; Cas's nightmare, Cas half naked in bed, his hand on Cas's warm leg...

He shook his head, brushing away the memory. This wasn't good.

He pulled himself off the seat, wincing as his warm feet hit the cold floor, and stretched. It was always harder to get out of bed when there was nothing supernatural to get up for. He needed coffee. Coffee and a shower. And a hunt, though apparently he wasn't getting another one of those for a while. He thudded downstairs, feet heavy on the steps as he yawned, and he reached the bottom step, wiping some sleep from his eyes.

"Morning." He heard his brother say across the room, and he blinked up, seeing the guy apparently fresh from the shower, hair still shiny with water. He nodded, heading for the kitchen, before seeing Cas on the sofa, turned towards Dean in greeting, a soft smile on his face. He still didn't have a top on, and from this angle, Dean could almost see all the way down to his waist. He blinked again, realising he'd stopped in his journey, and looked away, grabbing the coffee that was hot and waiting for him.

It took Dean an hour and two coffees to get him alert, spending the time reading the newspaper that Sam had picked up on his run. Garth was right, there were no hunts going, but apparently the economy was still in the crapper. No surprise there. Eventually he looked over to Cas, who had turned his attention back to reading, leaning forward so that he wasn't putting pressure on the tattoo, which was risen, and no doubt itching like all hell. Dean could see the bone structure of his spine from this position, softly jutting under the skin, the faint hint of his ribs.

Dean cleared his throat, and his two companions looked up at him, expectantly. He raised his eyebrows, putting down the newspaper as if he'd planned it all along. "Alright. Time to get dressed," He looked over to Cas, who was looking up from _Paradise Lost_ to Dean, mouth slightly parted. Dean looked away, eyes back to the paper. "Time for some target practise."

* * *

Ten minutes later, Cas had reluctantly put on some clothes. He'd chosen the soft green jumper, wincing at the feel of it on his skin, though determined not to scratch it. If he scratched it, he might scar it, distorting the image, making the entire ordeal pointless.

He met Dean back downstairs as he slowly figured out the best way to stand; shoulders back, popping the shoulder blades back and minimising the amount of fabric touching the affected skin. Sure, it was creasing the skin a little, but it didn't feel nearly as bad. He was beginning to consider just taking the sweater back off and simply being cold, but he had to admit that as the first bite of cold hit him when he stepped outside, goose pimples travelling down his arms and hardening his nipples beneath the fabric, that yes, he did need clothes outside.

Dean had already set up the area while Cas had been getting dressed, and he beckoned him over. They were stood next to the car, trunk open to reveal the collection of weapons stored inside. In his hand was a gun, one that Cas recognised as one of Dean's, silver, with a pearl grip. He frowned at it, looking at Dean warily.

"It won't bite." Dean told him, a grin on his face, seemingly a little bit happier than he had a few minutes ago. Perhaps it was the gun in the hand.

"No, but it will shoot a bullet at high speed with the intent and capacity to cause harm."Cas frowned, walking forward, grateful that Dean kept the gun pointing away from him at all times.

"Correct." Dean agreed with a nod, cracking a grin at his student. "But, seeing as you don't have your mojo anymore for smiting, you're gonna have to learn some different methods."

"I've shot a gun before." He reminded him, and Dean shrugged.

"A recap can't hurt." He gestured away from the house, and it took Cas a second to notice the wall about fifteen feet away, lined with cans. "We don't have the luxury of a shooting range, so we're gonna do this the old fashioned way."

"I see." He moved to take the gun from Dean, who willingly gave it up. Cas took it, glaring at it like he was offended by its very presence, and lifted it, aiming it at the fence.

"Safety." Dean reminded, and Cas glanced over, confused. Dean reached over, flicking a switch on the gun. "Always check the safety's off if you're gonna shoot."

Cas nodded, mentally berating himself, steadying the shot. He took it in both hands, one on the grip, the other covering the first, and after a second, squeezed the trigger. The shot went wide, rustling through a tree behind it, and Dean nodded slowly. "That's okay. Don't expect you to get it the first time. You got the grip right..."

Cas frowned, squinting, repositioning his aim. Everything was a little harder without his grace. Not long ago, he could have shot without trying, hitting it through easy manipulation of physics. He used to know the atoms in a different way, could see how everything worked, would see the wind and know how it might affect his every move. Now, he was looking through gelatine eyes, and everything was dulled. He blinked, tuning back into Dean's words. "You wanna bend you arms just a bit, helps with the kick."

He squinted, looking down the line of the gun carefully, straight at the can. The gun was heavy in his hand, about the weight of a bottle of water. There was a slight breeze coming from the West and he compensated, tilting the gun a fraction to the right. He breathed out, gritting his teeth in determination, and after a second, pulled the trigger, cutting off Dean's words. The bullet travelled through the air, lightning fast, crossing the short distance and slamming straight into the can, knocking it off the wall. He lowered the gun, taking his finger off the trigger, and looked over to Dean. The man's eyebrows were raised, mouth slightly open in surprise, soft puffs of fog leaving his mouth. "It's a good thing you hit that," Dean told him, glancing over. "Otherwise that woulda been rude."

Cas tried a few more times, each time knocking the cans off the wall without fail. Dean was, apparently, impressed. "Well, ain't you a regular Sundance Kid?" He joked, taking the gun from him and putting it back in the trunk, pulling out a shotgun. He shrugged, apparently thinking it through for a second, before shooting his friend a grin. "Guess that makes me Butch."

Cas squinted, a small smile playing on his lips. "I wouldn't consider you particularly feminine." He replied, and Dean scoffed a laugh, grinning at his friend in surprise. Cas felt a small surge of pride at the smile on Dean's face, aware of the fact that he had put it there. He accepted the shot gun that Dean handed him, but was stopped as Dean took hold of the barrel, manoeuvring it to point at the ground, holding up a finger in warning.

"Gotta put the cans back up." He told him."_Someone_ decided to knock them all off."

Cas watched as Dean walked the distance, kicking at the slight snow that had fallen overnight. He was bulky with all the layers on, claiming more mass than he possessed, a shorter neck from how high the shoulders of four separate shirts climbed. Cas thought back to last night, how he slept in only one thin tee-shirt, the muscles of his arms thick but unassuming, more honest than the layers Dean wore right now. Sam was larger, without a doubt, in height and muscle, jutting and imposing and leaving no doubt as to the fact that he could overpower you in a second. He had no doubt that he was very attractive to some. But Dean, his thinner tone, his softer physique...

Castiel loved all of God's creatures. He adored humans, had sacrificed himself for them time and time again. But, perhaps, he adored Dean Winchester most. None had captured his attention quite as he.

Dean walked back, rubbing his hands together to chafe the warm back into them, smiling at Cas. "Right, shotgun."

"I'm familiar."

"Less accurate than a pistol, sprays its load rather than banking it all on one small bullet." Dean paused, frowning at his words, then shaking his head. "You get long barrels, better for long distance. Farmers use them for game."

"This one is sawn off?" Cas tilted it for inspection, carefully.

"Better for blasting. Sprays wide and close. Pack it full of salt-"

"Good for ghosts." Cas surmised, and Dean nodded.

"Top of the class." Dean nodded. He glanced back to where Sam was watching in the doorway, shooting a thumbs up. "Give it a try."

After a half hour more of this, they came inside, shivering from the cold. Sam had even made them both a coffee to warm them up. Cas had winced at the feeling off the hot mug against his icicle like fingertips, and began to revise the theory that the itching was worse than the cold. Though, as the first sip of the hot drink touched his tongue, warming him from the inside out, he found he couldn't bring himself to care.

* * *

_Hey look, a new chapter! Slowly does it. As ever, reviews welcome. The more I get, the faster I write. _


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